Even so much allusion as this to that family shadow, she felt, was an immense recognition of her ripening years. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. "Steady, old top! What are you going to do?" "The damned scoundrel!" "I told you that child was opal. He climbed on top of her, pressing her into the couch cushions, the gown billowing around them like a cotton candy parachute. . . "It looks as though, we should go together," he said, pulling her toward him.
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