The curtains which she had left drawn were open, and the electric lights were turned on. He had a blue overstuffed couch, his own television, even a computer with its own desk. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. Think of those days in Paris. ‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce. She went out into the hall, where she met the Jedsons in their kimonos.
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