” She lifted her eyebrows. She looked, Dorothée said, just as she always looks. The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. She could not risk going in the door, lest she run into Larry or Cathy drinking a nocturnal glass of milk or Mike raiding the refrigerator for snacks. . . It was not only that her father had said all sorts of inconsistent and unreasonable things, but that by some incomprehensible infection she herself had replied in the same vein.
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