After he’d left, she sat at her rose-rimmed mirror replicating the faces she’s made- berry stained lips twisted in ecstacy, or was it agony? She’d watched him go silently, batting dewey black lashes. Words were not the way into a man's heart, she knew that. At last he turned half out the door, she puckered her lips up, like a trout. And then cursed him 21 times on his way out. She cursed him 21 times to herself on his way out.
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