But the morning brought courage again, and those first intimations of horror vanished completely from her mind. “She is living there now,” she remarked. She had killed him. At first Spurlock tasted coconut in his eggs, in what meat he ate; it permeated everything, taste and smell. In between naps she increasingly found herself gazing at him, his large nose, his eyes circled in silvery plum shadows, his thin lips parted as he slept baring a rim of perfect teeth.
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