“Does he ever ask about me?” She asked, feeling like a cuckolded old maid. “It is the same man, Annabel,” she said. He must have been following her from room to room, silent in his stockinged feet. He grabbed her hair viciously and whispered loudly into her tear-streaked face. She despises one-piece swimsuits, she calls them ‘old hag bathing dresses’ no matter how low-cut they are. “Who from?” She met his eye for a second and her heart failed her. To be sure, Ruth had dimly been aware of this; but now for the first time she was made painfully conscious of it.
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