She had thought it a mirror, because it was her. How old are you?” She asked. Now she knew why the soldiers had not caught him. “To the young man himself,” he answered, “no! I simply object to his calling here two or three times a week during my absence. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. She went about the gory business of disposing of the bodies, cutting them up with a large butcher knife and packing the light dry pieces of their bloodless remains in a double ply garbage bag, pieces that looked like overcooked, ruined meat. She came to spend hours with the bastard children that the women brought, dressing and feeding the tiny ones, inventing games for the older ones. I have never in my life been so much puzzled by any one as by your sister. Mr.
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