“Sir John,” her aunt repeated, with thin emphasis, “is coming to see your sister. ‘He was very kind to me. It is a most inauspicious start for you. You are my Sir Galahad, so faithful and true that it is a wonder you exist. Oh, God!” Rhea sniffed the air through two gaping nostrils that had eroded through her onion skin flesh. Then she put more coal on, piled it over the ashes, and stood once more upright.
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