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” She opened the car door for herself. Austin, or any man of similar dimensions, would have found wholly impossible. The carpet was a quiet drugget and not excessively worn, and the bed in the corner was covered by a white quilt. A white house that she often found charming loomed gray and ashen, its gardens shorn for the coming winter. Presently she saw Spurlock on the way to the lagoon. This was automatically rather than thoughtfully done; habit.
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