“John,” she said, “I can spare you that question. She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery. She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere.
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