’ Leaning down, she raised the hem of the petticoat of her habit to reveal a neat little pair of boots on her feet. . He would make her rub her lips with waxes and other ointments, precursors of lipsticks. . ‘That is what she wants, is it?’ ‘Do you blame her?’ he said stiffly. Then he would turn his face to her, and she would have to think of herself in his eyes. ‘And you, my girl, if you’d been born at all, would have been just what you think you are.
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