Art was everywhere, underfoot in the form of mosaics, overhead in the form of architecture. Courtlaw opened his lips, but remained silent in the face of her imperative gesture. When I examined you for ‘ill humors’ I longed to run my hands over your entire body, to touch your face, to caress you in the places that would give you pleasure. Where else could she go?’ ‘And there aren’t too many of them around,’ agreed Hilary on a gloomy note. Those awful chairs!" After dinner the spinsters proceeded to inscribe their accustomed quota of postcards, and Ruth was left to herself. She became aware of the modelling of his ear, of the muscles of his neck and the textures of the hair that came off his brow, the soft minute curve of eyelid that she could just see beyond his brow; she perceived all these familiar objects as though they were acutely beautiful things.
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