He measured out the portion of another peg, the bottle wavering in his hand. He seemed to be thinking hard. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. \"You should go out with him. When the disillusion comes, when the fairy story ends, if she is blessed with children, she doesn't mind. "I don't know how it is," he added in a low voice to Thames, as they were left alone, "but I've a strange foreboding of ill.
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