She would be haunted by the visions of their mad faces in her dreams for the next hundred years. 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. Then he turned round and gazed thoughtfully at the particular spot in the fog where Courtlaw had disappeared. The wine bubbled and seethed; and the exquisite bouquet of oranges permeated the room.
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