Shari draped herself lazily upon her unmade bed. ‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked. God, how old are they now? They must be teenagers. “What I am after is that beauty isn’t a special inserted sort of thing; that’s my idea. " "I shouldn't call her queer. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery.
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