” “Oh my goodness. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. His wife's portrait had been removed from the walls, and the place it had occupied was only to be known by the cord by which it had been suspended. " The Wastrel tried to reach Ruth's lips. ‘Help yourself, Hilary. It was astonishing how often this picture returned: cold rosy apples and flurries of snow.
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