Giles's bowl, "as his last refreshment on earth. “You are not boring me,” she said, “but I would rather talk of something else. She would be haunted by the visions of their mad faces in her dreams for the next hundred years. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. Towards night, however, he ventured out, and walked on towards London. Very good. The same old lines and verses, over and over, until there had come times when shrieking would have relieved her. Then she stepped back into the empty room and stood for a moment looking down upon the scattered fragments of her last canvas.
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