She grasped at the right one, massaging where his grip had been and Gerald hoped he had not bruised her. Instead, they lived a Bohemian existence, moving from patron to patron, city to city. “It’s all dirt that washes off, dear, but it’s dirt. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic.
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