“Why do you kill me?” Michelle asked. I was the black sheep, I was hurried out of the way. ” “The truth,” she murmured, with her eyes fixed upon him. Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told. The light disappeared. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols.
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