E. behind the Laundromat. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her. And lunged once more. His mother smiled in return, an act that brightened her thin face. She went to a writing-desk and made some memoranda on a sheet of note-paper, and then remembered that she had no address as yet to which letters could be sent. So I ran away, blindly, knowing nothing of the world outside.
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