Gerald smiled and crooked his elbow. She stared out of the paned glass window, watching the trees being blown bare by the gale force. Diane spooned warm apple-rhubarb pie onto the girl’s plates, topping each with scoops of ice cream. Many things were only words, sounds; she could not construct these words and sounds into objects; or, if she did, invariably missed the mark. But he held the smile until she turned away from the curtain.
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