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He would make her rub her lips with waxes and other ointments, precursors of lipsticks. She felt her own body stir, ready for more. Apparently he had projected beyond his table some hypnotic thought, for it had held him all through the dining hour. During the week, her uniform was the blue and white scrubs of a nurse, the job she had suffered at for twenty-seven years. " "You may see the marks on the child yourself, if you choose, Sir," urged the widow. It needs cultivating, I think.
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