Cathy had not even noticed that she herself was wet and trailing water everywhere. The gardens were tidy and geometric, each avenue with a different purpose: flowers for cutting, herbs, brightly colored vegetables. She saw her aunt in tears, her father white-faced and hard hit. She felt the warm nearness of his. To escape one phase of loneliness she had plunged into another, so vast that her courage sometimes faltered. When she came in after dinner that night, Ruth was no longer an interesting phenomenon, something figuratively to tear apart and investigate: she was talismanic. ” “Yes, shit. .
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