It wasn’t long ago that a girl went straight from the farm to her husband, just as soon as her period came and she could make babies. She did not speak to John in the week of school left after the Prom. She had often wondered if Hoddy would ever go back to it. He seemed to stay away from her because she was so cold and formal towards him, addressing him as Mister McCloskey as if she were an Irish maid. There was more shouting. The thousand voices which a few moments before had been so clamorous were now hushed. Lucy marveled at the billiards table and the sauna. All he will say is that she said so—as if anyone could believe a word the girl said. Certainly I cannot kill you if you tell me to do so.
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