[ She cries less now, and he cries more, the two of them gravitating inwards from their previous extremes towards some sort of middle ground. Only there is nothing temperate about this newfound center — nothing moderate or evenhanded or on a steady keel. There will always be some twist, some terrible skew to the both of them, like there's not enough room for all of her Heaven and all of his Hell in the same place.
The hand on his shirt crawls up and ghosts across his throat, brushes against the line of his jaw and creeps up into his hair. The corners of Perahia's mouth twitch and, for a moment, she seems quite mad. ]
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The hand on his shirt crawls up and ghosts across his throat, brushes against the line of his jaw and creeps up into his hair. The corners of Perahia's mouth twitch and, for a moment, she seems quite mad. ]
Ruth said.