For awhile he watched the revolving light on Copeley's. " "Not necessarily. And Mrs. ’ ‘Yes, a pretty theory, Lucy,’ Gerald said evenly, ‘but for one thing. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. His eyes were fixed upon the tablecloth. "I've done nothing to offend you," persisted Jack.
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