Thought she was a nun at first. The van started with a jerk and rumbled on its way. ‘Oh no, you don’t,’ said Gerald in a low tone. When it came time to eat once again, she hid out on the beach, a remote fastness beyond the city walls, a swampy morass that everyone avoided. She glanced at the Frenchman, and found him struggling with the portrait that was embedded around his scalp. His gray eyes were closed, his persimmon-colored lips open and panting. ” “It gives in a nutshell the miracle of art and the imagination.
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