She saw marks in the dirt where he had been pacing. A thin mist lay on the river, giving the few craft moving about in it a ghostly look. He had assumed that her leaving home was the point at issue, that everything turned on that, and that the sole alternative was obedience, and she had fallen in with that assumption until rebellion seemed a sacred principle. The moisture from the sea was constant, and she spent countless hours staring at the sea from the west tower, the rise and fall of waves.
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