It’s artificially chance. " Sister Prudence looked at Sister Angelina, who understood what was expected of her. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. Sheppard, fervently. To wait for hours and hours for the night! The sea empty for days! You forgot the monotony, the endless monotony, that bends you and breaks you and crushes you—you forgot that!" Her voice had steadily risen until it was charged with passionate anger.
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