A chain, riveted to an iron belt encircling her waist, bound her to the wall. The wall of the sky, the wall of the horizon, the wall behind which each human being hid—the wall behind which she herself was hiding! If only her mother had lived, her darling mother! Presently the unhappy puzzlement left her face; and an inward glow began to lighten it. Her mind turned and accused itself of having been cold and hard. She meditated long and carefully upon her letter to her father before she wrote it, and gravely and deliberately again before she despatched it. He began shoveling dirt over the bodies. There’d only be endless rows if I was at home. It did not matter that he wore the cloth; something was wrong with him. . It comes over the mountains, Anna, pink darkening into orange red, everywhere a wonderful cloud sea, scintillating with colour.
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