Mrs. Rhea commanded her. ‘Comment? What do you wish?’ ‘What the devil do you think you’re up to now, I’d like to know?’ Her eyes flashed. Perhaps once it had desired some other human being intolerably. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. It isn’t sentiment but it’s horse sense.
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