At the back of her mind, dim and yet disconcerting, was the perception that she herself did not know what she wanted. She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. He was a wonderful little creature with a perfect tiny face, mottled pink cheeks, and eyes brighter than May. Diane Vorsack was a disaster waiting for a place to happen, with a heartily established dislike for the Beck clan.
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