“Yeah, I know. You love Ennison. I have never loved you. “He’s quite the inventor. She was always asking questions about her mother and supplying the answers. She padded up the stairs to the bedroom, finding that her sheets had been changed with a fresh pillow case to welcome her weary head. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments.
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