"If you talk as long as an Old Bailey counsel, you'll not alter my determination. Disperse in every direction. And my wife won’t live with me for reasons that I think most women would consider sound. Lucy sprinted to one side to avoid the crash and grabbed at Rhea’s solitary patch of yellow hair, which ripped out loosely in one decayed piece like strands of rotten corn silk. Submission to the inevitable carried her through the circumstances of her appearance before the magistrate. Everywhere else—the law, medicine, the Stock Exchange—prejudice bars us.
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