Sentence The Twohundredandfortyeighth
Theresa stared at the chronique scandaleuse on her screen, no sense of suage touched her, took away the livid bruising her body and spirit had been subjected to at the hands of Men, whatever fugacious pleasure or satisfaction they had enjoyed, it had left her empty and numb, and the retelling was proving to be not just cathartic, but also made her realise that only when it was finished would she be free of the ball and chain she had been dragging through the rest of her life, and she turned to Shelley, reading by the light of the bedside lamp, and said, simply, "thank you."