I sometimes laid away my father's clothes in his trunk. Spurling was no longer allowed to visit him; he was again loaded with irons; fastened by an enormous horse-padlock to a staple in the floor; and only allowed to take repose in a chair. Then, one night, he glanced up to behold Ruth and Rollo in the doorway. His shoulders were bent, his face was furrowed with wrinkles. She dumped him because she claimed she didn’t want him to go any farther. “If it’s about that dance project,” he said, “it’s no good, Veronica. .
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