“You are very good,” she said. Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. No matter what they do, always someone to bolster them up, to lend them money, and to coddle them. She had seen for herself right up in the bedroom window with her binoculars when Joanie was gone shopping one night, right with her own eyes. “Why not?” He asked. Give me the books.
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