“My child, I do not wish. Was she so fearful still? Roding shrugged and grimaced. The struggle had dislodged the white wimple, which was evidently too large for her, and her black hair broke free, whirling like a whiplash about her head as her hands curled into fists, coming up to beat at his chest, her little teeth bared for attack. The sun was setting when she carried the metal garbage can to the curb with their remains in it, where they sat underneath the stale chocolate cake that Sheila had thrown away and a pile of mildewy lettuce. ‘You can if you like. Winter came: rainy, damp, and savage. His fears supplied him with unwonted vigour. For a time they were very difficult. But her cries, instead of moving her assailant's compassion, only added to his fury. She had braved all obstacles to pursue her dream. Both of them.
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