” “Do you mean,” Courtlaw asked, “that from now to the end of the six months you do not wish to see us—any of us?” Her eyes were a little dim again. She had arranged for a supper of tea, a boiled egg, and some tinned peaches. It was the same Bios whose nature and drift and ways and methods and aspects engaged them all. He would have to go on; he would be forced to enact all the obligations he had imposed upon himself.
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