You want to think for a time, to be free for a time. Let me lend you some money. She’s right upstairs. She would never return to her father; that resolution was final. Puffy blue curtains dressed every oakstained window. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward.
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