The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost pitiless sunlight. Lucy clasped her hands over her ears as it screamed. For a second time Ann Veronica wanted to swear at the universe. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. He stared at her breasts while he touched them.
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