The sky periodically pummeled her with hail pellets as she would pass through the deserted intersections. She was the first to recover herself. She mounted the stairs of the theatrical agent’s office with very much less than her usual buoyancy, nor did she find much encouragement in the general appearance of the room into which she was shown. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. It was you, of course, whom he wanted. Play fair with her.
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