“She must look forward to Italy. She set her fingers in the hair and tugged, drawing him to a sitting posture and stooping so that her eyes would be on the level with his when he awoke. For yonder went the loneliest man in all God's unhappy world. Michelle had charitably taken to sitting with Lucy during Lunch Period, where she assumed a station at the outer edges of the Cafeteria, the crowd diffusing in concentric orbits, the middle tables reserved for only the most prestigious castes. The fact that it was her trusted friend making illicit love to her remained, in spite of all her effort, an insignificant thing in her mind. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her.
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