Lucy arranged her hair as Michelle had taught her instead of combing it out. Do you indeed remember? The smell of decay and cheap methylated spirit!. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. Cathy sighed. “You can’t imagine,” he said, “what a beastly thing a furtive love affair can be.
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