Even now I do not understand. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. “More coffee, hon?” She held her hand over the cup. She stood among them, watching them and feeling curiously alien to them. She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force. ” “Your ideas of fairness—” he remarked, and discontinued that sentence.
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