” She leaned back amongst the cushions of her chair. Milice,’ Gerald translated. Things were thrown here and there, to be taken up, or again cast aside, as the whim arose; while the broken-backed chairs and crazy table bore the marks of many a conflict. On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. His idea was to get behind this sustained listlessness. Ruth's eyes were wet, but she saw light everywhere: the room was filled with celestial aura.
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