‘I can’t tell you the times I’ve wished for a gun to point at Hilary’s head. Her mother was a goddess to her all through her youth, the mysterious ruler of all things beautiful and wonderful and lunar, her eyes that glinted spectral blue, as if she had the knowledge and the magic to raise the very dead. “And now, look at us! See what we have become. We'll have him yet. He was certain that those lips of hers had never known the natural and pardonable simper of youth.
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