She must speak to Jack. If Ray left the house, it would be easy. She pointed suddenly at the portrait. The walls were pristine white and unmarked except for two sconces and a rather colorless Monet poster that had been framed in an expensive oak surround. From time to time she would come upon a line of singular beauty or a paragraph full of haunting music; and these would send her rushing on for something that never happened. ‘Looks like it. It is a matter of degree.
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