Part 2 In the late afternoon, as Ann Veronica was gathering flowers for the dinnertable, her father came strolling across the lawn toward her with an affectation of great deliberation. Only her babe died. From one window the beach was always visible; from another, the stores. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. She had exposed the real story behind Peters tragedy, that dark, handsome Chuck had killed himself by leaving the car running in the garage, not from a “heart attack” as 111 claimed the party line. Let this be a caution to you in future—with whom, and about what you deal. "See the devil!—not I," cried Wood impatiently.
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