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Her eyes, though passive and weary, are windows to an inner furnace.

For this sketcher she will cooperate – she knows the drill; life is lived in a glass bowl. What an elegant straitjacket she’s wearing.

Her mind is as fecund as her body but society must validate her ideas through the mouth of her betrothed, that pea-brain who regularly repeats her words back to her, repackaging them as explanations she neither needs nor asks for.

Role-playing is so tedious.