She fell into a deep delirium, whispering hoarsely to her dead mother, cursing God in Heaven, cursing her doctor, cursing herself as apparitions of devils and demons pulled at her with yellow ochre hands. Your Mom says to come downstairs for dessert. She would have just to keep the fifteen pounds until she could make it twenty. The lips were straight and pale, the chin aggressive, the nose indomitable. “Come this way,” he said.
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