She found it extremely difficult to infuse an air of quiet correctitude into her return through the window, and when she was safely inside she waved clinched fists and executed a noiseless dance of rage. ‘She wants me to marry her. The smell of laundry detergent was noticeable, the bed sheets very tightly stretched across the bed, tucked in on three sides. “Are you sick, Michelle? Maybe you should have stayed home.
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