She parted the curtains to find him standing there. “You are the type that I want to marry someday, you’ve got a beautiful body, such pretty eyes. The comparisons upon which she could draw were few and confusingly new, mixed with reality and the loose artistic conceptions of heroes in fiction. In between naps she increasingly found herself gazing at him, his large nose, his eyes circled in silvery plum shadows, his thin lips parted as he slept baring a rim of perfect teeth. I WAS talking to him before I saw his name on the card beside the row of microscopes. The Supper at Mr. ‘I’ll handle her better alone. It wouldn’t be you.
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