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Copyright © 1998 D.F.Lewis.
All rights reserved and reproduction without written permission expressly prohibited.
The Chaise Longue
"My goodness, you're a fine one!", said Matthew, as it suddenly dawned on him
that paula had not only arrived in the room, wihout him noticing, but had also
managed to station herself on the chaise longue in an aggressively prim pose.
Matthew sat in the window alcove, only able to see that bit of Paula which was
the corner of her face, the bit, indeed, which was reflected in the
mantlepiece mirror... whilst he, Matthew, remained entirely invisible to her.
"I knew you were there without speaking," she announced.
Her voice was both knife and butter. Yet no bread. It was a message by movement of the tongue,
rather than the meaning if the sounds thus produced. Matthew felt cut to
the quick. Paula had been his lover. Now, they needed to sort out a few unwanted
things, even if that entailed mock stylisations of conversations as precursor
to the nub of the matter.
[End of this extract. The full story was published in Gravity's Angels]
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