” “Possibly—bit by bit. ” “I don’t understand. She can be of use to me yet. Father— dead. He turned his back on that temptation. 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. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. She has had offers innumerable; for where wealth and beauty are combined, as in her instance, suitors are seldom wanting. "Bring him out, Quilt. Find your man, that’s the rule.
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