Too late now. During the week, her uniform was the blue and white scrubs of a nurse, the job she had suffered at for twenty-seven years. ‘Jacques, do not go!’ Jack gazed steadfastly at the floor. “Sebastianus? Where did my husband go?” He smiled at her gently, patronizingly, as he prevented her from movement or escape. Her acrid rose perfume oil that hung in the air that smelled like a head shop, her V. “Am I dull?” she said.
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