His voice now had lost its ironies. "It was silly. \"Ever thought about letting me do something with your hair?\" Not needing an answer, Shari got up and whipped out a vented brush from an overstuffed drawer. ” She smiled. ” He stepped past her to the door and closed it. They smelled good, but they no longer smelled like food. He kissed her lightly on the lips. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. ” “Do you think so? I find my interest in that sort of thing decline and decline. "Where?" she cried.
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