“He wants me to have dinner at his parent’s house tonight,” still looking at a series of spots on the carpeting. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. She was faint from hunger, her head spinning into dizziness, the blood madness readying for battle. Then the work is optional; they go on their own. He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. There was a black fear in his heart. She felt herself shaking again. Girls screamed in chorus.
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