“I tell my Mom everything. He flipped the television on. ‘How so?’ he asked, and she noted that he allowed his pistol to dangle a little from his fingers. Does HE know I keep you?. She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer. Sampans with fish and fruit and vegetables swarmed about, while overhead gulls wheeled and swooped and circled. Perhaps, as you say, I do not really care—but I cannot do it. But how to avail himself of it was the question, for in his present garb he was sure to be recognised. As the novel grew Ruth was astonished to see herself enter and dominate it: sometimes as she actually was, with all her dreams reviewed—as if he had caught her talking in her sleep.
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