“But I am your husband,” he said. " "For an old bachelor?" "A human old bachelor. She drew it out with shaking fingers. It began as a joke. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words. ‘Kill him? Oh. But that was soon put right, and she walked out into London with a peculiar exaltation of mind, an exaltation that partook of panic and defiance, but was chiefly a sense of vast unexampled release. Michelle had charitably taken to sitting with Lucy during Lunch Period, where she assumed a station at the outer edges of the Cafeteria, the crowd diffusing in concentric orbits, the middle tables reserved for only the most prestigious castes.
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