His tongue was more ready, his wit more keen than usual. He drove her home that night, kissing her again and again at stoplights. His glances were hard to disguise as he scanned her periodically during class. As she did so, the ruffles to the jacket of her riding habit fell away, exposing livid blue bruises about her wrist, ugly in the light of day from the window at their back. It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. Die game. Reluctantly she found him beguiling after he had eaten. Her straight strawberry blonde hair was exactly Cathy’s. \"Stop smiling, you're scaring me. I would have married her long ago, but she will not have me. He took her hand and looked into her eyes and spoke, divided against himself, in a voice that was forced and insincere.
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