In the periphery of her vision, she saw the door pulled back. ’ ‘Dunderhead. “Wild horses—not if they have all the mounted police in London—shan’t keep me out. He devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her breast against the imitation silk, his memory still exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt. “My wife refused absolutely to have anything more to do with me. The sun was setting, casting long dreary shadows across deformed apple trees. She thought of the suitcase, the seventy-seven dollars for a Greyhound ticket that had expired.
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