Here was an appalling fact: all her previous loneliness had been trifling beside that which now encompassed her and would for years to come. He often wanted only to drive with her in the car, both of them staring at the scenery in silence for hours. “Yes. Your life is like a funeral March. Wood was unable to discover the figure of the widow, but he recognised her dry, hacking cough, and was about to call her down, if she could not find the key, as he imagined must be the case, when a loud noise was heard, as though a chest, or some weighty substance, had fallen upon the floor. "He would return my letters unopened or destroy them. She thought of all sorts of odd and desperate expedients, and with passionate petulance rejected them all. “Anna!” she repeated.
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