It was the first expression of the mother's blood. An extra pair of gym clothes materialized within fractions of a second. He looked just as Julian had the night she had first met him outside the Joliet Laundromat. Valade, who was standing by her chair, glancing around the packed pink-papered saloon with a heavy frown on his face, was a thickset man of coarse, reddened feature, with a discontented air. Had he been trying to stop the grim descent, and had he dimly perceived that perhaps a fine deed would serve as the initial barrier? A drunken idea—a pearl in the midst of a rubbish heap. A film of dust lay upon it; the ink marks were ancient. I have been very foolish, but it is over. He sees men all defiled by coarse thoughts, coarse ways of living cruelties.
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