The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. ’ Mrs Sindlesham’s lips twitched. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. If I'd not gone mad, they would have hanged me. The threadbare remainders of the dinner discussion hovered over the topics of obsessive fans of the science fiction and horror genres.
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