By and by he ventured to peer into this window. Ann Veronica was one of the few young people—and one must have young people just as one must have flowers—one could ask to a little gathering without the risk of a painful discord. "Your father—poor imbecile!—believes we ran away together. The sun was setting when she carried the metal garbage can to the curb with their remains in it, where they sat underneath the stale chocolate cake that Sheila had thrown away and a pile of mildewy lettuce. She felt her chest trying to float up, but the blessed undertow, the dreaded reason why she was warned to never bathe in the ocean, sucked her feet down, putting the decision where it belonged, into the hands of God. At the sight of her he became rigid and a singularly bright shade of pink. On that basis alone, he had no right to give or accept love. " CHAPTER XIII. “She must look forward to Italy. Her sensitive ears could hear her foster mother snoring in front of the television. “Let us walk across the Park at least,” he said to Ann Veronica.
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