I’m a man, and I know what I mean. So he made merry at the dinner table, told comic stories, and was astonished at the readiness with which she grasped the comic side of life. Those are all nice things, but it’s not what I want. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. She could smell the sweet girl child he had buried in the garage in autumn, 1 even under the frozen ground.
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