If the Wastrel had not turned the instant he did, the ball would have missed him; as it was he turned directly into its path. Of the vast mass of these impressions Ann Veronica could make nothing at the time; there they were—Fact! She stored them away in a mind naturally retentive, as a squirrel stores away nuts, for further digestion. Her wedding gown! She wondered if the spirit of the unknown mother looked down upon her. Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. It was her figure, her style of dress, her manner of arranging the hair.
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