Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. Notwithstanding her emaciation, her features still retained something of a pleasing expression, and might have been termed beautiful, had it not been for that repulsive freshness of lip denoting the habitual dram-drinker; a freshness in her case rendered the more shocking from the almost livid hue of the rest of her complexion. She spied him sitting on his armless black couch, his feet splayed as he stared at his television blankly. Your father…. ’ ‘The tables, they are turned, I think,’ she returned. “I can survive on my own. "I will not submit to be thus interrogated," said Winifred, angrily.
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