There was a photo of her that looked exactly like you. ‘Ain’t no call for you to go a-blaming of yourself. "Why does she weep?" Ruth wanted to know. So she took up Stevenson and began to read aloud. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ agreed Gerald with a grin. The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. For all that, it is folly. It was as if she had come upon the beautiful marble façade of a fairy palace, was invited to enter, and behind the door—nothing.
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