She washed her face twice after making smudgy eyeshadow and lipstick errors. I don’t love you. Not all of us, but some of us. She's my mealticket. You get the idea. ’ Gerald could not resist. She tightened her bandage and sat back, biting her lip. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. Well, I don't blame you on that ground.
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