The doorman replied, tipping his cap, “I don’t speak much Italian these days, not since my mother died. He embraced her, kissing her cheek, then her neck. She had fallen into it naturally, the only expression of the dance she had ever seen or known, and that a stolen sweet. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. ‘Obsessed, that’s what you are.
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