As she did so the preparation-room door opened behind her. “You’re not a virgin, are you?” It was as much an accusation as a question. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. . Ill-drawn, without method or sense of proportion, you have put wonderful things on to canvas, have drawn them out of yourself, notwithstanding your mechanical inefficiency.
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