When they were home, the pair headed for the Big Apple or the warmth of the Beck’s family table. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. ‘That’s what comes of disarming yourself. He picked up the broken fiddle and beckoned. She did not speak to John in the week of school left after the Prom. It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. In between naps she increasingly found herself gazing at him, his large nose, his eyes circled in silvery plum shadows, his thin lips parted as he slept baring a rim of perfect teeth.
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