The sun was setting, casting long dreary shadows across deformed apple trees. 'Whoso giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord;' that's my comfort. ‘Oh, the Frenchie. Doubts began to rise up all about her, plucking at her confidence. He loved Ann Veronica, he said; he was so mad to have her that he defeated himself, and did crude and alarming and senseless things. ‘It is Yol—’ She broke off abruptly, her face collapsing into an expression of acute consternation. She descended down the stairs of the house, sidestepping the refuse from bingedrinking teenagers that was strewn everywhere.
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