Gerald watched her perambulations in silence, his heart wrung. " Mrs. ‘It is pretty. And now she had sent Jack away. ’ The core of hurt rose up, tearing at her insides. She felt scrawny, lanky, badly dressed in a baggy black T-shirt, sweaty, not at all beautiful; not even pretty. She plucked at the knots of her racket and heard him to the end, then spoke in a restrained undertone. I shall make no defence. Mrs. Lots of us are like that.
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