Sheppard, who had again looked round towards her son, beheld a hand glance along the side of the woollendraper. Why did he imagine she was making this journey to England? She feigned interest. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. I don’t want a family in the suburbs and Christmases at the Florida house and summers at the Hamptons.
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