So often as she had herself manipulated a dagger, she could not mistake the shape that pressured across her chest, or the sharp point that dug below her bosom. She moaned, having failed in her mission to find her mother and her God. One learns to sit up. She warmed to him fast, her anger was much harder to carry than the pleasant everyday neutrality of affection. Sheila pounded the kitchen table, causing the bell jar with the silk flowers to tip over and roll to the floor. Too late now. What better way to be rid of him? ‘Jacques,’ she uttered urgently. Jack affected to close the door, but left it slightly ajar.
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