Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. All his interest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now be translated into a single word—love. Creative work appeals to me wonderfully. Idiote. ” He caught her wrist and turned her face towards him. “Queer letters he writes,” she said. By and by he gathered enough courage to lean toward her. She would have to move on to a more lawless country soon, Mexico, Columbia, then cross the sea where she could eventually return to the chaos of Eastern Europe and the Russias. She opened the window, for the night was mild, and sat on the floor with her chin resting upon the window-sill.
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