He could hardly open the envelope, he trembled so. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. Beck, it smells wonderful in here. He saw rifts in clouds—sunshine. He drove her to the Beck house, pulling up behind Cathy's red Nissan.
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