. She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed. That was the true miracle of the gift; without actual experience, to imagine love and hate and greed and how they would react upon each other; and then, when these passions had served their temporary purpose, to cast them aside for new imaginings. Someone was coming out of the house. She realized in a moment what had happened. ’ ‘Pottiswick, you mean, miss?’ ‘Yes, yes.
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