The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. “Are you sorry you waited, aunt?” she said. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed. From the beginning. "We'll do it. Sheila grabbed the gun and laughed hysterically, brandishing the weapon and baying like a bear. "What is it?" "Can't you see? Together, down there; you and I!… As my wife! Both of us, never to be lonely again!… Will you marry me, Ruth?" As many a wiser woman had done, Ruth mistook thrilling eagerness for love. Later on I could scarcely have forgiven you.
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