She came right up to me and put her snow-white hand on my arm. "You poor boy," she murmured, "you poor boy." I'm not a boy, and I'm not poor, and I wished the hell she would get away. She has a clever face, but I felt in it, that night, the force of a great sadness and great malice. "I see a rope around your neck," she said sadly.
John CheeverAbout author
- Author's profession: Writer
- Nationality: american
- Born: May 27, 1912
- Died: June 18, 1982
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