“But how can you?” asked Constance. That window there…. behind the Laundromat. ” He passed his hand wearily over his forehead. They used to marry us off at seventeen, rush us into things before we had time to protest. In the twilight he had ceased to be a person one could tackle and shame; he had become something more general, a something that crawled and sneaked toward her and would not let her alone.
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