. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. Ann Veronica said she didn’t care. With your permission, I will go on in my own way. I don't believe he is much past forty. She would end alone. What was to happen now? She turned to Roding quickly. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment.
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