At ten oclock he boarded the bus and leaned back and closed his eyes. Remorse lodged in his gorge like a great salt cinder. What will she say? What will her mother say? Her father. Suttree got up and swung down toward the door but the bus had already started. He hung by one hand swaying. All night he’d tried to see the child’s face in his mind but he could not. All he could remember was the tiny hand in his as they went to the carnival fair and a fleeting image of elf’s eyes wonderstruck at the wide world in its wheeling. Where a ferriswheel swung in the night and painted girls were dancing
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