‘Lord,’ Gerald uttered, his inexplicable annoyance evaporating. She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety. She crawled over and caught at the skirts of this white woman who understood. Get on with it, then. She continued to fan herself. “Marriage and mothering,” said Ann Veronica, with her mind crystallizing out again as the lark dropped to the nest in the turf. ” “You are wonderful!” she murmured. He was braver than her husband, who paced and cowered in the corners of the once-sunny Palazzo.
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