It was a castoff of Shari’s from her brief obsession with sewing. He did not want Ruth to see his own stricken countenance; nor did he care to see hers, ravaged by tears. They compromised at length on the science course at the Tredgold Women’s College—she had already matriculated into London University from school—she came of age, and she bickered with her aunt for latch-key privileges on the strength of that and her season ticket. “And even then—” The conversation hung for a thoughtful moment. I’d need to be out of my senses. “I knew,” she said, in a low despairing tone, “that people would talk. ” He said, sucking down some Pepsi.
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