Rhea writhed and scuttled about like a crab. ‘But do you not see that he will come again? I think it is better if you, both of you, go and leave me here to find—’ She broke off, looking away. 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. The boy was all conscience, and he suffered through this conscience to such lengths that the law would be impotent to add anything.
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