‘Ah, grandpére. The evenings were dulcet and soft. They were his friends, and they recognized his unusual earnestness. ‘I do not remember the name,’ Melusine said, turning to Mrs Ibstock. She became aware of the modelling of his ear, of the muscles of his neck and the textures of the hair that came off his brow, the soft minute curve of eyelid that she could just see beyond his brow; she perceived all these familiar objects as though they were acutely beautiful things. Ruth, standing by, heard his true laughter for the first time. Ruth did not resent the use of her mind and body in this tale of adventure. They got to go home and eat Campbell’s Chicken Soup. He sat on the bed, throwing aside his hat.
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