She tried to compose her thoughts, to think of the last six months, to steep herself in the calm beauty of the surroundings. We pretend we never think of everything that makes us what we are. . Gerald did not know who she was, but he knew who she was not. Raymond Plote would only be missed by his mother. “Idiotic, isn’t it?” “Absolutely,” she agreed coldly. His patient was distinctly of a different order of life.
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