He leaned forward to embrace her. The smell of laundry detergent was noticeable, the bed sheets very tightly stretched across the bed, tucked in on three sides. "Red apples and snow!" she sent back at him, her face suddenly transfixed by some inner glory. She had lost it. ‘You knew her well, Miss Mary?’ Mrs Ibstock turned at the window. He seemed too noisy. "It's a great world," was the manager's greeting.
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