Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. " "Ay, and there's my liver. I suppose it is the mirrors and decorations. The fashions of the day have become antiquated. I did not care—no woman really cares—to play the beggar maid to your King Cophetua.
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