She rolled to one side. Where was the harm in letting her go? She could not get far. She infused menace into her voice. She finished the olive and looked up. ‘Sapristi,’ he shouted angrily. Women, she had been taught, who exposed the flesh of their bodies under the eyes of man were in a special catagory of the damned. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. There were too many kills, too many unsolved files in too many cabinets.
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