He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. She was good to me for the two years I stayed with her, she had a nice apartment in Galveston. It generalized everything she put to it. ” “I have been abroad,” he said. I can’t do it even decently myself, and I dare not run the risk of ruining all my clothes.
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