She often found herself absorbed by watching the tall grass undulate from the cave’s central doorway as solitary hunters prowled for buffalo and stag on the plain. "Take me, then," replied the widow. As for Mike’s observations on John’s desires to get laid, it was the pot calling the kettle black. That glove is still preserved. Suddenly she thrust her head out of the window. She was tempted to touch him in the car as they drove to the empty house, but she refrained for fear of causing a car accident. She didn’t like the shops, she didn’t like the other women’s faces; she thought the smirking men in frock-coats who dominated these establishments the most intolerable persons she had ever had to face.
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