Arrived in Paris she remembered that she had not the money for a fiacre. She fell into a deep delirium, whispering hoarsely to her dead mother, cursing God in Heaven, cursing her doctor, cursing herself as apparitions of devils and demons pulled at her with yellow ochre hands. He can come round there. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. Concealed among the trees that edged the estate grounds, the watchers paused. Apparently she was always doomed to weep when she talked to her father. ’ ‘Forgive me, but if that is the case, I don’t quite see why you should run away.
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