’ Mrs Ibstock’s lips tightened and she looked away a moment. For nearly thirty years he had lived here in contented loneliness; then youth had to come and fill him with discontent. “Forgive me,” he said. Believe me, the bitterness of it has almost departed, crushed out of me together with much of the weariness and sorrow I brought with me here by the nameless glory of these lonely months. We pretend we never think of everything that makes us what we are. One hour later she had gone back to the mission—without the salt.
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