That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap. ’ She gestured at his hand, on which Roding’s makeshift bandage had been replaced by a more efficient one. They were in many respects so right; she clung to that, and shirked more and more the paradoxical conviction that they were also somehow, and even in direct relation to that rightness, absurd. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. It was that somebody had cheated you.
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