“You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. So this was what it was all about. ” He stepped past her to the door and closed it. ‘I—I mean, she were—’ ‘Pretty as a picture?’ suggested Gerald. "Take me, then," replied the widow. She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. I was helpless.
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