Her naked body was an abomination of caked filth and sagging tubes for breasts. “All these days I have taken her for you. The man asked twelve guineas, but after a little bargaining, he came down to ten. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams. She could feel his breath on her skin, every hair on her arms and neck raised in response. ” She said, studying his face, which seemed to lose its childishness a little more with each day. Tears began to stream from her cheeks. But one day he came to me. She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son. And I'll have supper with you.
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