Her foster parents had attended the concert in their finest clothes, Cathy in a new JC Penney dress, Larry in a suit that was too small. She was finally dead, going to Hell. The old aspect of the place was gone. There he sat, cheerfully friendly in his sex’s freedom—the man she loved, the one man she cared should unlock the way to the wide world for her imprisoned feminine possibilities, and he seemed regardless that she stifled under his eyes; he made a jest of all this passionate insurgence of the souls of women against the fate of their conditions. ’ ‘Do not say so. Something he saw there had a curious effect upon him. “She cannot be aware,” he continued, “that she is making herself conspicuous.
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