Men in this part of the world drink to forget the things they have lost. He often wanted only to drive with her in the car, both of them staring at the scenery in silence for hours. It was a night well-fitted to their enterprise, calm, still, and profoundly dark. Here she would find candy awaiting her, bits of ribbon, books. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica.
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