“Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently. ” He stroked her hand gently. Lucy heard a stir, but if Dawn Plote were to arise and come into the room, it could only mean two murders tonight. “Yes?” he said. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. Her elbows were ready.
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