He blushed, too, spiritually, as it were. I don’t want a family in the suburbs and Christmases at the Florida house and summers at the Hamptons. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. Such freedoms from such people were not to be endured. So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably. “I think,” he said, “that I am right.
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