She turned her head away sharply. She addressed her letters, meditated on them for a time, and then took them out and posted them. He drove her home that night, kissing her again and again at stoplights. He put down his hat and umbrella, rested his hands on his hips, and regarded Ann Veronica firmly. In mailing the tales he had not enclosed return postage or the equivalent in money. “Who do you think cares for your children as you dally with my husband, Clotilde?” Lucy asked.
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