But why this part of the plan now seemed to her quite unattractive was a question she did not care to examine too closely. Diane spooned warm apple-rhubarb pie onto the girl’s plates, topping each with scoops of ice cream. “I do,” Anna answered. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay.
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