The sing-song girl, seeing Ruth, extended her hands and began to chatter rapidly. She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. Jackson, I could almost fancy we had met before. “It is like old times,” she said, “to hear these home truths. “He looks as though he did, at any rate. “Well, if I find your conversation interesting I shall listen.
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