S. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets. She thought of how much she wanted to eat the foods she had once feasted on that now smelled as innocuous as spring flowers. We were alike. And that happens through our maternity; it’s our very importance that degrades us. “To begin with, I was—I was in the divorce court.
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