Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. For every Eden, there will be a serpent; for every sheepfold, there will be a wolf. The occasion is worth a dash of the grape, lad. She dreaded living off the land again, like an animal, as she had done for dozens of years at a stretch. Gerald at once rid himself of his own glass and leapt to her assistance.
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