“The real reason why I am out of place here,” she said, “is because I like men. ‘Ha! Just the person I want. "My portrait!" echoed Jack. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. ‘But you know. The well of tears in her eyes was dry. 1.
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