She staggered to the fireplace and thrust it into the heart of the dying flames. Gerald, intent on his trail, ignored it. “And yet you still live, Butterfly. ” Lucy said. It feels like too much gold-dust clutched in one’s hand. Ah, if I had written that!" "Don't you want to live?" "I don't know; I really don't know. She gathered her black purse, a pointless thing made of cardboard covered in sateen and bejeweled with an assortment of rhinestones.
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