No police officers or lurking storms were anywhere in sight. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. Enschede—that's a queer name. Her scream shook the windows of the sedan. This was no light conquest; nor was it a government easily maintained. She cried for hours but would not scream as her mother was packed into a marble coffin.
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