She glanced at him. For the first time, perhaps, in his life, he repented of his brutality. "A miserly old woman. It was an oldfashioned peasant blouse, white, square necked, and trimmed with lace. " "There isn't an angel in heaven, Ruth, purer or sweeter than you are. She watched as his headlights flooded the driveway and many minutes after his car was gone. He had his sections of the Siegfried map folded in his pocket, and he squatted up with his legs crossed like an Indian idol while she lay prone beside him and followed every movement of his indicatory finger. One post-midnight meeting, she could stand it no longer. “I am tired,” she said, “and I want to rest.
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