The windows were still darkened—perhaps she was not home yet. She used his own gun against him, a method that was occasionally cleaner than slitting throats when she got it right. She had a feeling as though something had dropped from her eyes, as though she had just discovered herself for the first time—discovered herself as a sleepwalker might do, abruptly among dangers, hindrances, and perplexities, on the verge of a cardinal crisis. He begged their attention for the next turn.
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