‘That’s why I never told Joan Ibstock that you were still with me when I wrote. To wait for hours and hours for the night! The sea empty for days! You forgot the monotony, the endless monotony, that bends you and breaks you and crushes you—you forgot that!" Her voice had steadily risen until it was charged with passionate anger. " "You're not going to betray me!" cried Jack, in alarm. Your life is like a funeral March.
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