In between naps she increasingly found herself gazing at him, his large nose, his eyes circled in silvery plum shadows, his thin lips parted as he slept baring a rim of perfect teeth. “It’s a nice holiday. All men are bloody fucking hypocrites. \" Larry got up from his chair and trudged to the refrigerator, pouring himself a glass of milk from the never-ending supply of two percent. The place was gloomy, with its darkly panelled walls, but it was sparsely furnished. The novel danger of the situation enthralled him. His bodily suffering, however, was nothing compared with his mental anguish. . . " "Humph!" exclaimed Jonathan. She knew that in her new rôle she was as likely as not to be a rank failure.
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