’ The core of hurt rose up, tearing at her insides. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds. And I’ve read, and thought, and guessed, and looked—until MY innocence—it’s smirched. Michelle repeated herself brashly, “A vampire, silly. Beyond was another door, on which was painted in black letters: MR.
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