There was no keeping Sheila from the truth, and it was better that anyone who lived under her roof knew it. “What did it matter?” she cried. But he was now too deeply moved to trace a certain unsatisfactoriness to its source in a mixture of metaphors. Let him be sure. A sound sleeper, she was not roused by the creaky openings and closings of drawers as Lucy packed a single duffle bag with underwear and soap that was pilfered from a multipack of Zest in the Beck’s downstairs bathroom.
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