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160 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1959
They killed him [Jerry] over there, on a hill with a number instead of a name, and when they’re dead you can’t tell whether it was a police action or a war. So I went through the motions of life for a year, while my heart rotted in my chest. No kids to amuse. No new name.
After a year, I woke up and counted my losses, brushed up on all my acts, rejoined, in a limited fashion, the human race. At least my spinsterhood was not virginal. Twice on the beach, twice in his [Jerry’s] boat. That was all. So damn little, and so damn wonderful. Bright little memories for the empty nights.
So you make all the adjustments, lock all the cupboards, sweep out the floor of your heart and wait with indifference for the years when you will be a very funny old woman. Then, without warning, an odd and gentle man comes into your life and responds to you in a way so reminiscent of Jerry that all the tidying up is undone. Debris all over the place. It isn’t fair.