Old farmhouses loomed as they whizzed by, left behind in the gray like mourners. “Your father,” he said, “remarked that all’s well that ends well, and that he was disposed to let bygones be bygones. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. The telegram dispatched, his obligation cancelled, Ah Cum proceeded homeward, chuckling occasionally.
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