She wedged the towel between her legs. She hoped that Shari would not be too brokenhearted about her disappearance. And Ramage too—about Ramage there would always be that air of avidity, that air of knowledge and inquiry, the mixture of things in his talk that were rather good with things that were rather poor. They sat down in a covered pavilion that housed a grimy picnic table and a dingy fire pit. Her husband sat in a chair beside her bed, his head in his hands.
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