She drew a chair to the window and stared at the splendour of the tropical night. Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob. 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. It was her job to keep the house as neat as a pin, up to the high standard that Sheila expected, being a nurse.
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