Stanley, “I am anxious. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. I haven’t, anyhow. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. She thought then that she had shaken off the man of the bulging blue eyes forever, but that night she found he followed her into her dreams.
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