There was a gulf of eight years between her and the youngest of her brace of sisters—an impassable gulf inhabited chaotically by two noisy brothers. He cherished her. It was very much like a real house, with one central stalagmite that looked like a column and a waterfall that served when she wanted to bathe. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. My eyes are open to you. The Goopes were the oddest little couple conceivable, following a fruitarian career upon an upper floor in Theobald’s Road.
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