Clotilde pried Fritz from Lucy’s left leg where he was clinging. One can't help being jealous, you know, even of an unworthy object. Gerald grinned. The thought of beauty became an obsession. I cannot do it, David. She refused to accept her fate, but what is it that she could do about it? Night after night she invented alternatives. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind.
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