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. At Boulogne they took train to Basle; next morning they breakfasted together in the buffet of that station, and thence they caught the Interlaken express, and so went by way of Spies to Frutigen. Then he stood up and repeated it again. You are your own Heaven and your own Hell, Lucy. And when I ask you why it is you do so, you have no answer.
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