Love and lavender, he thought, perhaps wistfully. Larry fell off the truck the Wednesday night before she planned on leaving. You’re a piss-poor liar, John. Leonardo was to me perhaps like a father, not a lover as you think. And the woollen-draper departed. Fritz flailed against his mother wildly, crying generous tears. There are men in the Lowndean who laugh at him—simply laugh at him. She felt the bedsprings coil as he moved from his seated position, entranced.
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