Katy’s face was vapid and undistinguishable from a crowd, but pretty in an abstract sense, like the face of a baby doll. ‘No sense in snooping about down here,’ Gerald whispered. We pretend we never think of everything that makes us what we are. She tightened her bandage and sat back, biting her lip. She saw her mother, her pale face, a woman in a white robe, calling to her from a sun drenched balcony.
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