“Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. Goodbye. Sheila had dropped glaring hints that she knew, which Chuck tacitly acknowledged with a lowered gaze. She felt that she became more familiar with the floor during the time that he stayed than with any particular person. He could see lust virtually dripping from the dark-haired boy’s maw as she teased every last note from her shuddering violin, the devil in a black skirt.
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