At the back of her mind there seemed always one irrelevant qualifying spectator whose presence she sought to disregard. “It was a phase,” she said. He placed his chin upon the top of her head. His gray eyes were closed, his persimmon-colored lips open and panting. In this state Mrs. Gerald’s thoughts raced as he reached out supporting hands and murmured meaningless phrases to soothe. He was in the house with his mother. To compare me to a starving pig. I shall never come back. “Believe what, Michelle?” Lucy asked.
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