But one night it looked Ayyachchio.
He was, so to speak, of an internal defect. He had not seen that for several generations of the men was a fact and given. He did not understand that men-rapists go to someone else, but not to Clara, that it does not have any of the wickedness that excites gross violence or that purity, which can defile. That evening four years ago Ayyachchio wandered to Clara accidentally and casually, in obedience to some inexplicable impulse, raped her. Perhaps, precisely because of its defect Ayyachchio succeeds like no other, get in touch with her true nature. He himself did not feel, and Clara felt the best way possible, and since then every day feared and hoped that he would come to rape her again.
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