Men do not understand constancy as women do. What a pig she was. But you—you have a good face. Her hair once more was arranged with its old simplicity. He saw her eyes pass him and settle on a fleetingly pretty strawberry blond girl and her effeminate father. The terrors and anxieties of the last few months seemed to have fallen from her, to have passed away like an ugly dream, dismissed with a shudder even from the memory. She cried out his name in ecstasy. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. She felt it would save explanations if she did not state she had left her home and was looking for employment. There's good stuff in him, if one could find the way to dig it out. They agreed to lend her their hold-all and a large, formless bag which they called the communal trunk.
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