I barely prevailed sometimes, but in the end, my wits were faster than their steel. I was his wife. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. When they were home, the pair headed for the Big Apple or the warmth of the Beck’s family table. To-morrow they will all be contradicted.
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