” His arms were around her. “He wants me to have dinner at his parent’s house tonight,” still looking at a series of spots on the carpeting. Clarice rubbed her belly, singing songs to the unborn baby. “There ought to be a Censorship of Books. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. She shuddered; the room was unfamiliar and unwelcoming. Still—I don’t know whether I quite like—Something ramshackle about those people, Vee. " Some order.
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