The door is open, so it is needless to ask leave to enter. She married my Dad in a small ceremony down at City Hall. Cased and ribbed with stone, and braced with horizontal beams of timber, the piles, which formed the foundation of these jetties, had resisted the strong encroachments of the current for centuries. What gave the puzzling twist to an ordinary situation was her manner: she was guileless. Shy, grateful in her loneliness for this unexpected attention, she had listened. Slowly and ruefully she realized why marriage was so idealized among her generations of those before her.
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