But she veiled her feelings. It was the bitterest moment of her life. They stopped talking, except to each other. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. Some day I'm going to paint her; but that will be when I've retired. ” Suppose she were to add, “I am going away!” “I’m glad to hear you say it,” said Mr.
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