\" She said, bashful. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. I have never spoken of these things to any human being. She liked to do it for Cathy Beck, so that she could relax after waitressing all day at the Big Apple with a homemade meal. She wanted to stay where she was; but tears were dangerous; the more she wept, the weaker she would become defensively. “Oh no, you’re breaking up with me, aren’t you?” “No Julian.
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