S. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. “You Mr. . “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. She looked at the white ankle socks on her feet and was reminded simultaneously of her pajama outfit and the suitcase that still lay underneath the bed. They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house.
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