\" Larry got up from his chair and trudged to the refrigerator, pouring himself a glass of milk from the never-ending supply of two percent. In some instances she tantalizes the victim for years and mocks him in the end. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. Long ago. Tell me how you are earning your living here, Anna—typewriting, or painting, or lady’s companion?” “I think,” Anna said, “that the less you know about me the better.
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