A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. She might scream until her voice failed; the natives would not come to her aid; they never meddled with the affairs of the whites. And you don’t know what led to our separation. She looked up and said, a little breathlessly, “I’m sorry, aunt, but I don’t think I can. ‘Now I see that you are mad indeed.
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