There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers. She could not help devouring him a little with her eyes across the Burger King booth, handsome shoulders visibly solid underneath his ridiculous polo shirt, his eyes all sweetness and light. "Souls," she answered, drily. Gay. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. She was sore with the perplexities of her preposterous position.
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