She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. Of what was she thinking? She must rescue herself. Even now, during the recurring doubts of the future, the thought of the island was repellent. Why should WE hoard? We aren’t going out presently, like Japanese lanterns in a gale. She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain.
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