She washed her face with unwonted elaboration before she went to bed. I guess they were bad all the time. The spinsters were not kind; they were only curious because she was odd and wore a dress thirty years out of date. ’ ‘You mean the one that you refused to feed?’ demanded Gerald, seizing this promising cue and adopting a mournful note. She tried for her usual confident tone, but only succeeded in sounding gruff, even to her own ears. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting.
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