E. You’d think he wanted to meet the wretch again. Her heels made contact with Rhea’s knees and hobbled her with a crack. This morning he heard voices—McClintock's and the Wastrel's. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. “In self-defence I had to,” she answered.
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