He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers. As soon as dinner was over she went into the kitchen and devoted herself to compiling a tray—not a tray merely of halfcooled dinner things, but a specially prepared “nice” tray, suitable for tempting any one. Still silence everywhere. The babies that the woman—your wife—refused to stop creating. There is something inconglomerate about us. On the contrary. A slow anger burned in the man.
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