Shari proceeded to paint, brush, dust, slather, and blot Lucy’s face with makeup. ‘What the devil for?’ ‘Messenger,’ Gerald explained. With his black and gray hair, his gray-green eyes were a striking contrast and he looked even younger, as if he had been frozen at age thirty-three. My poor brain is so mixed, dear, I hardly know what I am saying. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. She hoped that Shari would not be too brokenhearted about her disappearance. And then her pace slackened. You have spoken her name, I think, Marthe. Does that boy live in some sort of personal cave? Like, I think he might even be thinking about asking you out again! That is what I think. He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips.
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