Never had he corrected her with hand or whip, the ring in his voice had always been sufficient to cower her. It reminded her of one of the old tales her mother Marina had told her about a sculptor named Farhat. She turned to face him and he kissed her. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. Your attitude to me—” He fell into a brown study. " And she left the room with Blueskin, who very politely offered her his arm. He sat alone in his brother’s old car night after night that summer, staring blankly at the red sky beyond the abandoned farmhouse where she had once shown him her secrets. “If you say so, my pet.
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