. He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. And that happens through our maternity; it’s our very importance that degrades us. I’ve had enough of it. “No, you didn’t. What is the matter with you?” Dunster had withdrawn discreetly. It must have cut him.
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