Steeples toppled, and towers reeled beneath its fury. See paragraph 1. Black blood and white bone flew into the corners of the crypt, slathering the dead faces of the corpses left piled in the corner. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. "Oh, God! that I might die too," cried Jack, falling on his knees beside her. Under the plumed hat, her eye kindled. “I will make it possible,” he cried.
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