“After the check for three hundred dollars, and after she'd posed for him. Posed so casually now a part of her vocabulary. A fair maiden. Heimweh. Soul mate. Fated. Handsomely rewarded. Waking from a dream of mysterious urgency in the chilly dark before dawn when seagulls cried outside her window, hearing his voice as intimately as if he'd been lying beside her: Katya, my dear. It began to happen then, that she thought of him often. At first quizzically, even derisively, and then with an ine...xplicable and powerful yearning. The old nagging thoughts of her mother and of her lost father and of her home on County Line Road in Vineland and of Roy Mraz were thunderhead clouds, sultry with rain, but her thoughts of Marcus Kidder were high-scudding, fleecy white clouds gently blown across a fair, clear, washed-1ooking sky and made you smile to see them. A longer visit, he'd said. Next time. Her canny Spivak instinct told her, I don't think so, old man! and yet the fact was, Marcus Kidder had been kinder to Katya Spivak, more generous and more caring, than anyone outside her immediate family had ever been.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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