We did not talk much, and when we came to a ferry someplace north of Bridgeport about sundown, I rented a room for her, and we stopped for the night. ...e ate in relative silence, but finally did exchange names. Hers was Julia.After we finished our meal and I got myself a pipe to suck on, we did talk a bit. Her husband had been a farmer and a part-time preacher and school teacher who had joined up after the British left Boston. She had come along with him since they had no children and were. It just happened." Shit, you expect me to believe that?" Please? Please see with your heart, not your eyes."Ouch. That's such a Conrad thing to say. I married him because he seemedto understand me, understand how I felt, even when I didn't understandmyself. "You can't be him," I tell her. "You're soft, feminine." And ... pregnant. Is that it? Is that what's ..." There's that hurt lookagain, fleeting across her face. "I'm cold."I'm starting to feel sorry for this bloated slip of a girl -- the. More

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