’ He glanced at the portrait behind her. ” “Thanks to me,” he repeated, puzzled. She hoped the lights would become hot enough to melt her into the floor. She refused to accept her fate, but what is it that she could do about it? Night after night she invented alternatives. I do, however. Gerald raised his cockaded hat, and smiled. Perhaps she might never come back to that breakfast-room again. Usually it was fish sticks and reheated noodles. She would come and sit cross-legged just beyond the bamboo curtain and silently watch him at work.
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