Am I so forgettable?” He strode down the hall as she ran to catch up with him past lockers someone had painted an abysmal shade of gray blue. “Our ways happened to lie together. I am certainly no ghost. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. Gazing into each other's eyes with new-found rapture, neither observed the sudden appearance in the doorway of an elderly woman in travel-stained linen. My mother, I'm sure, didn't intend to hurt your feelings. ” Her voice trembled with suppressed passion.
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