He guided himself between her legs. His pale and boyish waist was nearly as slim as her own. ‘What is it?’ asked Roding. It was not your fault you failed. In the twilight he had ceased to be a person one could tackle and shame; he had become something more general, a something that crawled and sneaked toward her and would not let her alone. He saw the expression on the girl's face and understood what it signified, that it was the reflected pattern of his own.
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