She had to school herself to speak the words which she knew would cut him like a knife. ‘There was a priest, the father confessor, you understand. He sat alone in his brother’s old car night after night that summer, staring blankly at the red sky beyond the abandoned farmhouse where she had once shown him her secrets. And she did not merely affect to be driven—she felt driven. Her tears dissipated as she began to convulse, completely devoid of any spare fluid. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. Major said you’d gorn.
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