You can, too, if you wish. “It jars. ‘So it would appear. " As if an order had come to her somewhere out of space, the girl glanced sideways at the other young fool. Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy. The spinsters had purchased one grass-linen tablecloth; the girl and the young man had purchased nothing. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son. "I know the house well; by the same token that it's a flash crib. Like a trollop in heat. ‘You see now how dangerous it is to play this lone hand. I want you to be my wife. She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it.
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