She found no ready reply to that, and he went on: “This music is the food of love. Is there?” “Nothing,” said Ann Veronica, with a radiant face. Then, one night, he glanced up to behold Ruth and Rollo in the doorway. Loneliness. One day her mother swept into the bedroom of the family townhouse, sweeping across the floor with a bundle in her arms. And if the woman is not a rival, she must be—yes, that must be it. It’s the only clean way for us.
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