Dieu du ciel, but where was Gerald? On the move again, she found herself standing before one of the mirrors, gazing into her own countenance without seeing it. I don’t want to influence you unduly—But—They’re artistic people, Vee. Maggot. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. The comparisons upon which she could draw were few and confusingly new, mixed with reality and the loose artistic conceptions of heroes in fiction. I worshipped her and subdued myself.
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