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These and her general preparations had perhaps a certain disproportion. Red velvet curtains rustled under dim lights as the door shut with a heavy snap. Sometimes it seemed to him that he was an impostor: that Ruth believed him to be one Howard Spurlock, when he was only masquerading as Spurlock. That was odd: when young people were joyous, they had to express it physically. I’ll come and see you again later on. She thought of Capes. “John! Welcome! Happy Thanksgiving!” Cathy cried, ushering him deeper into the house. “How old are you?” “Sixteen.
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