It’s kind of the World War II thing. I shall like to think of it—whenever I feel dull. Perhaps marriage hurt. From suburbs, from country towns—everywhere. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it. Would I could purchase his apathy as easily as I can procure his assistance.
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