CHAPTER VIII. "I feel like work," he lied. It was dawn: Cathy would soon be off to the restaurant and Larry off to paint a house. Here one might live the life of golden days. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. “Love should be enough, John, but it never is. She asked the inevitable question, the one she knew Michelle was waiting to field like a quarterback anticipating the pass. “Called myself Anna,” the girl repeated coolly.
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