Gerald’s thoughts raced as he reached out supporting hands and murmured meaningless phrases to soothe. Something about this woman rather reminds me of our hostess. “You!” said Ann Veronica. Her girl, Clarice, was ten and just as pretty as a silver bell. She became aware of the modelling of his ear, of the muscles of his neck and the textures of the hair that came off his brow, the soft minute curve of eyelid that she could just see beyond his brow; she perceived all these familiar objects as though they were acutely beautiful things. .
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