. \" She rose to leave the kitchen. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. But his astonishment would have been great indeed had he known that not even her father had ever caressed her, either with lips or with hands. “What the hell. Anna made things for her. “We’ll go to a place where we can have a private room,” he said.
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