Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. “Do you hear!” she said “whatever you are, wherever you are! I will not be slave to the thought of any man, slave to the customs of any time. “I suppose, Vee, you don’t see much of those Widgetts now?” “I go in and talk to Constance sometimes. . ” “Climbing?” “Yes. She reads novels—and history—and all sorts of things.
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