Bête, she told herself fiercely. I do not love any one. Katy’s face was vapid and undistinguishable from a crowd, but pretty in an abstract sense, like the face of a baby doll. “Could you play ‘Fiddler on the Roof’?” father Thomas pleaded. ‘Do not be alarmed, Jacques. Rhea commanded her. I have been dreaming of your body and you night after night.
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