Clarice rubbed her belly, singing songs to the unborn baby. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. Gerald studied the darkness beyond the aperture. . Why hadn't he admitted that he recognized the photograph? What instinct had impelled him swiftly to assume his Oriental mask? "Why?" asked O'Higgins. "Would you rather be alone?" "No. ‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’ ‘I blame myself. I’m glad I did.
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