E. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. He had assumed that her leaving home was the point at issue, that everything turned on that, and that the sole alternative was obedience, and she had fallen in with that assumption until rebellion seemed a sacred principle. Why? What is she to you?” “I was there by accident,” Ennison answered. Melusine whirled. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets.
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