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But Barea's self-command, worn down by the daily bloody destruction of children and women in Madrid's streets, finally broke. A fistful of quivering brains, stuck to a plate-glass window after a shell burst (he was escorting the visiting Duchess of Atholl at the time), shocked and nauseated him. He could no longer deal coolly with the bureaucratic intrigues that entangled him. In early 1938, he got the Government's permission to leave Spain with his wife. They crossed the frontier from Barcelona to France, to live in poverty and write.