Something about this woman rather reminds me of our hostess. “Oh, you know,” she said. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. She tolerated spitballs in her curly hair and had to buy a new backpack when hers was stolen. Loving was better than that. Suppose—suppose a girl did want to start in life, start in life for herself—” She looked him frankly in the eyes. It was a beautiful place that she had found, a round cave by a small stream. Then they rode off at speed. I thank God for the very skin that is peeling from your nose, for all things great and small that make us what we are. He was her only brother, and she his favourite sister. His grey eyes burned under his shaggy eyebrows.
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