His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet. Whether it was the nun’s habit or the harlot’s clothing that distressed her more, he could not begin to guess. Only au revoir. The perception of him flooded her being. “Sure, are you sure you’re okay?” He exited off the highway onto a quiet road and pulled over. He thrust out a rhetorical hand. Ruth crossed over to the dramatist of this tragicomedy and put a hand on his shoulder.
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