Frank looked at Cleo, whose face was blanched except for a single high red dot on each cheekbone. He could sense, beneath the still surface of her, a great roiling of feeling. But she did not move, did not even flinch. She reminded him of some great, noble boxer standing dazed after what should have been a knockout blow. He sprang up from his chair. “I’m sorry, but this is bullshit,” he said. “Cleo, you don’t deserve this shit.” “This language!” said Miriam. “Americans can be so coarse.” Peter stayed silent, his head hanging heavily between his thick shoulders. Frank turned to Cleo and offered
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