She wanted to stay where she was; but tears were dangerous; the more she wept, the weaker she would become defensively. He measured out the portion of another peg, the bottle wavering in his hand. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. “You are so sweet, Lucy. “I do not know you,” she said coldly. “You see, dear, one IS passionately anxious for something—what is it? One wants to be CLEAN.
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