” “Pretty name. She forced herself not to think of John. I’d rather starve!” For a moment the conversation hung upon that declaration. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. F. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. Suddenly, she heard the crunch of new feet on the gravel. ’ ‘Undoubtedly,’ Gerald agreed.
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