A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo. He hadn't played fair. The baby boy was delivered in a sea of black blood, born dead and blue, and strangled by plague. Beyond was a narrow bridge, crossing a circular building, at the bottom of which lay a deep well. I was certain of it.
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