155 The ringing doorbell jarred her from her stupor. It comes over the mountains, Anna, pink darkening into orange red, everywhere a wonderful cloud sea, scintillating with colour. It must have cut him. I stubbornly insisted that we wait, and you woke up. ‘It is you who is the fool,’ she threw at him, whipping round again. I have suffered—I have sinned—I have repented. And you, Austin; and you Langley, I say the same thing to you.
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