‘Bête. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. "To-night it is their turn," said Jonathan, binding up his wounded fingers with a handkerchief. Rats and things crawling all over. She was trying by some wonderful, secret, and motionless gymnastics to restrain her tears. The fragrance of dryer sheets lay upon her like the snow that now drifted peacefully outside.
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