He could see lust virtually dripping from the dark-haired boy’s maw as she teased every last note from her shuddering violin, the devil in a black skirt. Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, golden joy. He had found her in a communicative mood, and he used the accumulated skill of years in turning that to account. ‘You speak as if you expected to meet her again, Gerald.
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