Wanted her out of the way because he had been afraid of her, afraid of himself! He, at fifty-four! Then into this void poured a flaming anger, a blind and unreasoning anger. “I wonder,” he said, “is there anything we could do to help you to get rid of him?” “Can you think of anything?” Anna answered. He gently took the roses from her and laid them on the pillow. She would flee to the wild fastnesses, the places where there were no overarching systems of any use, where she could blend with the unstable populace and kill in relative peace. The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph. His face turned a dark crimson.
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