Open house and other stories
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Abstract
She saw him first, after she'd turned away from a conversation with a young couple so glued together they nodded in unison. He entered and brushed the drops from his dark hair. Handsome man, she thought, but then noticed a touch of the spaniel in him. The long face, a pleading air. She was familiar with begging. He greeted the hosts, then threaded his way past the buffet table, the egg-nog, grazing the branches of the tree so that the silver horns and harps and gingerbread men shivered. He poured a glass of wine and stood with his back against the table, one arm draped against his chest. He scanned the room. He's handsane, she thought again. She finished her drink and walked over. He appraised her, then glanced away. Of course she was fifteen years older than he, perhaps twenty. Her chin was beginning to sag and her eyelids to droop; underneath her loose dress her skin folded on her belly. At his age she 1 d been beautiful: at parties men 1 s voices had trailed when she passed them. Now only she remembered the camotion. If her husband remembered, he would not confess.
Description
Thesis (M.A.)--Boston University
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