He sat on the bed, throwing aside his hat. The entrance of the house 85 was grand, and upon entering she was immediately greeted by John’s mother, a tall, thin woman quite a few years older than Cathy Beck. Then he paused. She opened this and scrambled out—a thing she had not done for five long years of adolescence— upon the leaded space above the built-out bath-room on the first floor. For her mother to betray her seemed inevitable, but the betrayal seemed worse than her fate. But how long would she last, withering away to a desiccated pile of skin and bone? Round and round she would go. They were the three most beautiful women I had ever seen. And all the old—the old trick of shrinking up like a snail at a touch. It is repulsive. At times he seemed to be claiming pity from her; at times he was threatening her with her check and exposure; at times he was boasting of his inflexible will, and how, in the end, he always got what he wanted. There was every indication that she fled the island in company with a dissolute rogue.
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