Finally she fell into reflection. Majorities, right or wrong, dare not revolt. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. ‘Odd sort of a nun. For a space he rode the whirligig. “Let me know the truth. She would be haunted by the visions of their mad faces in her dreams for the next hundred years. Even now she could trace the outline of his shape behind the left-hand curtain.
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