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" "You are very kind, Sir," returned the widow, "but I require no support. “For one thing, Anna,” she remarked, “we had not the slightest idea that you had left, or were leaving Paris. The huge, newly remodeled brick house was crammed full of people reeking of beer, vodka, and tequila. I don’t think for a moment that he would recognize you. An old man and a young girl, the one as stubbornly offensive as the other. They walked across a moat of pea gravel that crunched like noisy cereal under their feet. How I envied Gianfrancesco on his wedding night, how I writhed in agony just thinking 171 about his intimacies with you! Then you became pregnant, and there he was, posturing and gloating like the rest of the family, my divinations of a boy in your womb pronounced. It’s a thing that’s happened to you. It was for ever. The police are concerned in it in either event. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love.
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