While he thus vented his rage, the door again opened, and Quilt Arnold rushed into the room, bleeding, and half-dressed. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. During the week, her uniform was the blue and white scrubs of a nurse, the job she had suffered at for twenty-seven years. My father died a year ago, by the way. So that the thought of Ann Veronica up-stairs had been extremely painful for her through all the silent dinner-time that night.
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