She went to her bedroom, but she did not go to bed. The impassivity of her features changed at last. Rhea’s head exploded into a spray of blood, brain, and bone. “If he is not here now I can make myself safe. ” “And mine,” murmured his companion, with the smile still lingering upon his lips. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets.
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