*
The doorknob rattled and she turned, frightened at the sudden noise. She was afraid Gerald would come into the room one day and burn her paintings, just as he promised he would. She’d gotten into the habit of locking the door now, not only because there was always someone about, but because thinking she’d locked it gave her a sense of security she couldn’t explain. But it was such a flimsy door, anyone would be able to push it in.
“Are you gonna sit in there all day, talkin’ to yourself?” Gerald grumbled through the door. His voice sounded rough and gravely, like he’d been chewing rocks and his tongue was picking through the words carefully — though he never picks at his words before he says what’s on his mind.
“I was just cleaning up,” she stammered, thinking how her voice sounded meek and timid compared to his — how everything about her seemed meek and timid — and she think…
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