It was in fact the first embrace of motherhood she had ever known. He might have been a complete innocent, she did not know and did not bother to find out. Now he lay there, a doubled-up mass, with ugly distorted features, and a dark wet stain dripping slowly on to the carpet. But out of a belated regard for her father she wrote the surname of some one else. She was beautiful once, Lucia. ‘I try to be. You must say farewell to her, for I cannot.
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