‘Gérard will think that I have gone back to London. I loitered in the shop as you chatted with the butcher’s girl. If only one might open the shutters and let in the light. So she married him. Her loneliness was consuming, Lucia. And then, as she stood there, with the fragments of the torn canvas at her feet, some even caught upon her skirt, the door was thrown open, and a girl entered humming a light tune. Mike and Shari sat at the kitchen table eating potato chips. She felt surges of longing escape every corner of her flesh.
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