The third item she took with a trembling hand by its waistbelt. “In Paris our lives were far apart, and we had seldom the same friends. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. There would be ultimate misery, but it would be needless cruelty to give her a push toward it. Money was not necessary; indeed, it would have embarrassed all concerned. Once outside, she ran towards the playground, and the grotto, a miniature limestone version of the manor, which was in itself a miniature of a fortress.
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