‘But my poor Jacques is wounded and—’ ‘All taken care of,’ interrupted Hilary. ‘What a fate he finds for me. I was grounded for the last two weeks. “Ah, Vee,” he said, “that’s better! and kissed her back rather clumsily. Emile looked at her, then down, and clearly caught the bright gleam on the floor. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. I promise not to do it again. A tourist caravan of four pole-chairs jogged along a narrow street.
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