She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. " "It wasn't the fumes of whisky that toppled him out of his chair. Michelle was laid onto the back seat, her head cradled in Lucy’s lap. The word "criticism" had no concrete meaning to her then; no more than "compromise. " A moment afterwards, they quitted the house. In you—if you can love me—there is salvation.
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