He rolled onto his belly, freeing himself from her hands, pushing her away. He dashed against the screen door before she could catch him and made the veranda. She touched bow to strings, playing a fifth. A chill rain thrummed against the sides of John’s car, having slowed from deluge to steady patter, the snow was 158 dissolved where it lay. For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. .
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