The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. ’ She was silent for a space, and it was evident that this part of the story was still too painful to be recalled with ease. In the genuinely dissipated face there was always a suggestion of slyness in ambush, peeping out of the wrinkles around the eyes and the lips. “Promise me that you’ll never tell another living soul, John. \"Where are you going?\" She cried. You were with your mother, the two of you huddled like thieves, laughing at the silly women who tried to shield themselves from rain by cowering under empty baskets and shawls. So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work.
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