And yet the secondary emotion was one of suspicion. He grabbed her hair viciously and whispered loudly into her tear-streaked face. Now, abruptly, they were real again, though very distant, and she had come to say farewell to them across one sundering year. I will neither stir hand nor foot for you more. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. She held out both her hands. She shut her lips hard, her jaw hardened, and she set herself to struggle with him.
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