Wood's favourite sitting-room, and her image was so intimately associated with it, neither the carpenter nor his daughter could muster courage to enter it before. She passed him silently as she dropped Michelle’s dried corpse into the open clay pit awkwardly, like a discarded doll. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. My last foster father in Alabama before the Becks was a heavy drug abuser. " CHAPTER XIX.
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