His attitude toward her was purely intellectual, free of any sentimentality, utterly selfish. It was her figure, her style of dress, her manner of arranging the hair. “It’s like this,” he said, and dragged a stool beside her and sat down with his elbow four inches from hers and made a sketch. Having accomplished his intent, Gerald let the lad go and had himself driven back to Stratton Street. The doorbell tinkled and Michelle grabbed her purse and rushed down the creaky wooden stairs.
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