The books slid from her arms and fluttered to the floor. She had never been to the opera before except as one of a congested mass of people in the cheaper seats, and with backs and heads and women’s hats for the frame of the spectacle; there was by contrast a fine large sense of space and ease in her present position. “I don’t know, John, but I think there is something going on with Michelle. How are you?” “I’m fine,” she said, unaware of all events except for the voice on the other line.
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