A rather pathetic figure, the Lady Frances, a beautiful woman, still in fresh middle age, and yet, by a strange chance, the last derelict of what only twenty years ago was a goodly fleet.
The unutopia was bizarrely unutopianly a thing, antiutopianly. Disutopianism.
The ultimate reality of life is that it ends in death.
Mrs. Rutherford looked motherly at the eager girl and caressed her curls[…]
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