With a cry of triumph, he rose, the sword hilt grasped in his fingers, the point swishing up towards her. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. He has no imagination, no real generosity. ’ ‘I will not. A man might be without relatives, but certainly he would not be without friends, that is to say, without letters. The stain was blood, but this was a stain that resulted from being up one’s elbows in blood! She smiled a nurse’s knowing smile.
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