He felt her relaxation and let go of her wrists. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. It grew clear to her that throughout all her wild raid for independence she had done nothing for anybody, and many people had done things for her. ‘They weren’t no soldiers. ” He leaned back in his chair as though wearied. Lucy savored the normalcy of the scene. . Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. Ruth crossed over to the dramatist of this tragicomedy and put a hand on his shoulder.
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