He looked across at Annabel, and he groaned. The little pucker in her brows became more perceptible. But that was all over. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor.
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