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336 pages, Kindle Edition
Published May 2, 2017
She was shapely and compact, in height about five feet three(in her stocking feet, as now); with blond-streaked hair that lifted from her forehead like a bird’s crest, artfully waved and sculpted; her face was round, full, inclining to plumpness. During the day, no less than in the evening, she was elaborately made up; at night, she applied medicinal-smelling creams and oils to her face. (Had Terrence ever seen his wife’s face naked, exposed? – raw?) She was particularly conscious, and critical, of her eyes, which were too small for her taste, and required eye shadow, eyeliners, mascaras – “A lifetime disappointment.” Yet, for all this, Phyllis Greene was attractive; in fact, quite glamorous. If her moods at home with her family were mercurial (“There Mom goes again!” was a cheeky refrain of Aaron’s, for years.), her mood in public was unwavering. She’d become, with years of practice, one of those supremely confident affluent suburban American women in whom The Smile has become an art.
Arm in arm Terence and Ava-Rose entered the glass-fronted reception room of the Metropolitan Life Insurance office, and more than one person, male, female, visitor or office worker, glanced curiously at them. A distinguished-looking middle-aged man in a business suit, a flamboyantly pretty hippie-style girl spangled with inexpensive jewelry – a striking couple, yes?