To lose was death, quickly and mercilessly delivered. ‘Something in that, missie. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. . The ceiling had, in many places, given way; the laths had been removed; and, where any plaster remained, it was either mapped and blistered with damps, or festooned with dusty cobwebs. If my Mom found out, she’d kill me.
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