He stalked her, he stared at her, he craved her, he sidled slinking and propitiatory and yet relentlessly toward her, until at last she awoke from the suffocating nightmare nearness of his approach, and lay awake in fear and horror listening to the unaccustomed sounds of the hotel. Burn your palette and your easel. He held her hand in his, cupped together like a pair of shells for the rest of the hour. Why aren’t you folded up clean in lavender—as every young woman ought to be? What have you been doing with yourself?.
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