It began to rain, a cold sweat of precipitation that was more sickly than refreshing. There had been disappointments and humiliations, and although she hated to admit it even to herself, she was in desperate straits. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. Of course I know nothing of what really did happen in Paris—if even you ever saw him there. The idea of Ruth as a talisman against misfortune—which he now recognized as a sick man's idea— faded as his appreciation of the absurd reasserted itself.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTM3LjE4Ni45MCAtIDIzLTA3LTIwMjQgMDc6MjQ6MjIgLSAxMDMwMjkzMDI1
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