She saw Lucy darkening her doorstep and stood from the recliner. Spurlock plodded through the heavy sand, leaden in the heart and mind as well as in the feet. Here he was hotly pursued. She would not look at him, would not think of him; when her mind wavered, then she muttered to herself in the darkness so as to keep hold of her generalizations. Weeks hurled past, weeks that turned into months. It’s—it’s a social difference. The will to live had returned. "I shall do no such thing. Take the one that struck him at this moment.
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