He seemed to be trying to understand something very perplexing and elusive. She seemed to assume that it must certainly be something she had said. Just as Hogarth got to the door, the turnkey stopped him. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. He can't play cards, either, when he's sober.
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