"What is it?" "The night," she answered. In the twilight he had ceased to be a person one could tackle and shame; he had become something more general, a something that crawled and sneaked toward her and would not let her alone. She mentioned, with familiar respect, Christ and Buddha and Shelley and Nietzsche and Plato. " "Somebody coming?" "Yes. She still could not muster the strength to leave.
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