She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. Her feathered hat fell from her head and down her back, and she felt fingers writhing in the mass of her hair and caressing the flesh of her neck beneath so that she shivered uncontrollably. He’s been 274 lookin’ a little down lately. “You and Anna,” she said, “seem to have stumbled upon a mare’s nest. D.
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