She could smell the sweet girl child he had buried in the garage in autumn, 1 even under the frozen ground. He moved her dress from her shoulders and off her torso. “Queer letters he writes,” she said. ” She said under her breath. She made herself a private declaration of liberty. ‘That is my mother. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. The door was closed— locked,—and the pair were heard descending the stairs. She opened this and scrambled out—a thing she had not done for five long years of adolescence— upon the leaded space above the built-out bath-room on the first floor. The odds were astounding and yet he had it bad. “It’s because I mean to send it back altogether,” she said. Don’t, don’t say anything now, not anything. I had to stay in school no matter how sick I was. Get you gone. ” That night was the most intolerable one that Ann Veronica had ever spent.
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