1. ‘You do not use your head, Emile,’ she said flatly. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. " "A white wall is a fool's paper, Jack,—remember that," rejoined Wood. “Please don’t,” she said. The bleach had ruined it, with yellow-orange streaks invading the frizzy white that cascaded in wavy tendrils coated with greasy hairspray. She looked upon it with pity as she drank his diabetic blood and saw that several of his fingers were missing. "Thank you," she said, and left the office. I've an idea it'll be that long before the chap gets up.
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