There was still the pity of understanding in Ruth's eyes. She saw Lucy darkening her doorstep and stood from the recliner. You are my Sir Galahad, so faithful and true that it is a wonder you exist. You simply can’t. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. ’ She was backing across the room, moving towards the screen.
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