She receded into the entryway, opening her palm and gesturing as if there were an imaginary red carpet rolled out for visitors. Oh! that Mr. My late husband, I mean. She looked at him gravely and squinted. She came to spend hours with the bastard children that the women brought, dressing and feeding the tiny ones, inventing games for the older ones. She crept into the living room and turned off the set, adjusting Cathy’s blanket which had fallen to the carpeted floor. He was safe, out of the beaten track, at last really comparable to the needle in the haystack.
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