She always dawdled, so it was easy. ‘The man’s gone,’ her old nurse told her, when she had recovered a little. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. Shari was snoring soundly. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth. "Where did you pick it up?" "I believe I told you; at Yale. That’s Italians for you. ” “Yes. She felt him sometimes at night as he called to her in her dreams.
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