Gin Lane's the nearest road to the churchyard. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. Even now he was not at all sure that she was not playing with him. "Darrell's job was done early this morning," he said; "and if I'd attended to his advice, the packing-case would have been finished at the same time. And this is not France, you understand. That’s how things are; that’s the order of the world.
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