Part 4 But presently, as she sat on the one antimacassared red silk chair and surveyed her hold-all and bag in that tidy, rather vacant, and dehumanized apartment, with its empty wardrobe and desert toilet-table and pictureless walls and stereotyped furnishings, a sudden blankness came upon her as though she didn’t matter, and had been thrust away into this impersonal corner, she and her gear. It was during Martin’s Violin Concerto that she was extraordinary. F. Sebastian physically restrained her as she hit and scratched at him, trying to touch her mother who went swiftly into her death throes. Lucy entered and Mike followed. ’ ‘Your husband?’ Gerald tutted. But she had loved the man.
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