It was the only time she had ever hit him, punched him right in the stomach like one of his favorite Three Stooges episodes. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. She was too wrapped up in the sheer joy of playing again; it had 201 been intimate, masturbatory. She patted John's head with her palm, its surface appealingly fuzzy. ’ ‘You ain’t never,’ gasped Pottiswick.
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