” He rowed a stroke and watched the swirl of water from his oar broaden and die away. "You can render no further service to your poor mother. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety. There was some justification for her annoyance, for negotiation of the secret passage demanded either a stout heart, or a desperate one. “Then you—you will?” A long pause.
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