You lie about your past all the time and you know it. And my word's law—with you, at least," she added, bestowing a cutting glance upon her husband. His hand traveled below her loose neckline, and he cupped her round breast in his hand. He was never drunk in the accepted meaning of the word; rather he walked in a kind of stupefaction. Books were always sliding and slipping, clumsy objects to hold.
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