She looked about and discovered a door partially hidden by shadow. The wound lay open for five seconds, and then closed neatly as if it had been stitched by invisible hands. “Don’t befool me any more,” he answered, almost roughly. 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.
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