A disconcerting gray eye that had a mystifying depth. “Like a stab. ‘I know,’ said Prudence Sindlesham, sympathy in her tone. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. He picked up the remote and sat himself to her right. Spit of your mother. It took all my self control not to let my hands wander.
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