On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. “I want to be your friend,” he said. They were in different key, they had a different timbre. She leaped to a world of shabby knowledge, of furtive base realizations. CHAPTER V At dinner the spinsters invited Ruth to sit at their table, an invitation she accepted gratefully. From now on, you’re going to listen to me for a change.
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