‘Thank you,’ she said, leaning heavily on his arm for a moment. Too much blood has been shed already. All this— the island and its affairs—was an old story; but her own peculiar distaste had vanished to a point imperceptible, for she was seeing the island through her husband's eyes, as in the future she would see all things. He gently took the roses from her and laid them on the pillow. The months that followed September spiraled downward. ” She wondered how much history she could reinvent before losing track of her own lies.
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