She patted John's head with her palm, its surface appealingly fuzzy. Diane Vorsack tried to disguise the fact that she was livid, her daughter’s buffoonery having driven off the prestigious dinner guests before the after-dinner drinks could be served. “Anna,” he pleaded, “be merciful. After he was gone in the morning, Ruth would steal into the study and hurriedly read what he had written the previous night. Ray Plote was most certainly feeling restless, what if he had left the house for the evening? She needed to eat. She made herself serenely unaware of his existence, though it may be it was his presence that sent her by the field detour instead of by the direct path up the Avenue.
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