A smile trembled at the corners of her mouth as she recalled Gerald’s ridiculous upbraiding of his own reflection in the mirror. “Promise me that you’ll never tell another living soul, John. "Nobody composes any more, nobody paints, nobody writes—I mean, on a par with what we've just heard. It was her job to keep the house as neat as a pin, up to the high standard that Sheila expected, being a nurse.
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