She slept in a bedroom clad in linens and skins, walked down hallways bedecked in the most gay and colorful frescos. There was a Greyhound bus that she was overdue to ride. Blood dripped down one side of her forehead. Can’t travel alone, a pair of nuns. ’ Gerald shrugged. “You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently.
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