Very quietly, he added, “Oh Lucia, I’m sorry. For when this Joan said it, I had a memory. She had felt very uncomfortable around him, grotesque. —Providence, I mean—HAS arranged it so that men will keep you, more or less. The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood.
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