She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. "Have you got Jonathan out of the way?" he asked, in an eager whisper. It was Sebastian’s fault for slapping her face and letting the baby out. Saturday mornings at the Beck house were routine, coffee, newspaper, bagels, and Looney Toons in no particular order. ‘You’re as mad as she is, Gerald.
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