But escape to where? She thought of the ships that sailed from the peninsulas to hot deserts where spices were traded. He opened the door of still another room, in one corner of which was a grand piano. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. He climbed on top of her, pressing her into the couch cushions, the gown billowing around them like a cotton candy parachute. Your Mom says to come downstairs for dessert. ’ ‘But you don’t look anything like her,’ burst out Mrs Ibstock.
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