He lowered her neck before her, and she noticed a bizarre urge to bite him rising from her mind like an itch. The both of them puttering about the tidy two-story house, Lucy would serve them both steaming cups of tea in the front parlor. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. “Why don’t you?” “Well, it might mean rather a row. Even now, during the recurring doubts of the future, the thought of the island was repellent.
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