She then opened Lucy’s meager closet and plucked out a pair of heeled boots usually reserved for weddings and funerals. She pulled herself together and put her eye to the eye-piece. Gerald, I mean, not Madame Valade. He stirred continually, thrusting his legs about and flinging his arms above his head. She heard the ocean in the distance, waves crashing on the beach, high tide. ’ ‘Merci,’ she sighed and, surrendering at last to his oft-proffered aid, allowed her head to droop onto his chest. .
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