" "There was Father," suggested Angelina gently. Manning,” she said, “I warned you not to idealize me. It was an unspoken curfew in the Beck house on week nights. She could feel his breath on her skin, every hair on her arms and neck raised in response. She sat, crouched together, by the corner of the hearthrug under the bookcase that supported the pig’s skull, and looked into the fire and up at Ann Veronica’s face, and let herself go.
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