"He called me a wanton, Hoddy. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she threw at him, her brief attack of sobs already ended, although the trace of tears on her cheeks bore witness to its sincerity. She could not hide her face. She thought of the suitcase, the seventy-seven dollars for a Greyhound ticket that had expired. I must go to work again. He held her hand in his, cupped together like a pair of shells for the rest of the hour. Feigning an air of casualness, Lucy asked the obvious.
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