\" \"Oh, come on!\" Shari exclaimed, putting her cocoa down and burying her face in a fat white pillow. No umbrella either, the sky was delightfully overcast. The oranges were of the Syrian variety, small but filled with scarlet honey. “I confess it. ” “It’s an unrest—a longing—What’s that?” The waiter had intervened. She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo. .
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