126 Lucy drank them as the first rays of watery sunlight seeped through the mullioned windows, then put their husks in the claw-footed bathtub. He walked in her direction. “So how about this Friday?” He asked. She watched as his headlights flooded the driveway and many minutes after his car was gone. Like a trollop in heat. Buried under various ancestral sixteenths, smothered under modern thought, liberty of action and bewildering variety of flesh-pots, it was still alive to the extent that it needed only his present state to resuscitate it in all its peculiar force. How she hated talking of the man who was responsible for her being brought into the world.
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