She wondered if he was already tired of her, if he would rudely push her away as one would a prostitute. Its walled heaved with black mildew and sea-salt. She flushed with desire and happiness, her husband had returned to her and all would be aright. Lucy saw it happen as if in slow motion. Most of the tables were for those who smoked only and drank wine, but there were a few spread with tablecloths and laid for dinner. “Is that a challenge?” She shrugged her shoulders, all ablaze with jewels. He's rewriting Poe and De Maupassant; and that stuff was good only when Poe and De Maupassant wrote it. His only warning was a gleam of silver in the faint spill of light from the house above. His tone was rough, almost threatening.
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