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Flora

Lucian Freud’s nudes are generally even more hideous than his portraits. Flora was spared the leporous impasto Freud was so fond of, and the toenails were a polished breath of fresh air. Then I saw the shadow cast on the bed. She isn’t alone. Suddenly I feel uncomfortable, like I shouldn’t be there. Thanks Lucian, you just couldn’t let me enjoy that one could you?

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