“Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. While waiting for his coming she had stated her present and future relations with him with what had seemed to her the most satisfactory lucidity and completeness. Sensing his discomfort, she stood up and brushed lint off of the hem of her gray miniskirt. She felt anger at Sebastian, anger at the thrill that she felt in her loins upon seeing him, anger at herself for never having the courage to end her own life. “It’s the stir of spring,” he said. He neither attempted to prevent his nephew's departure, nor to follow him. ” “What was wrong with them?” Michelle asked timidly.
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