What Bea was facing now, they had faced together many times in the past. Not the precise circumstances, but the feeling that life had become unbearably complicated, a tangled network of insoluble problems, each requiring all the others to be solved before any progress could be made. It was in the nature of a troubled soul to regard this as objective reality, a hard look at the grim facts that were revealed once the rose-colored glasses were off. But this was a distortion, a tragic misconception. It was the frenzy of the moth butting against the lightbulb when there was an open window nearby.
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