Hank walked through the back door, wearing sweat and grime from the steel mill. On his way to the water closet he shed two hats and a shirt. He closed the door and pulled off his woolen trousers, woolen underwear, and heavy socks. Having donned a fresh change of clothing, Hank walked into the kitchen and put his arms around Beth in a familiar embrace. It was welcome but not warming. The pain she had suffered at Hank’s hand had so numbed her that his touch brought no pleasure—only a false impression of tenderness that she would never know. In her gentle, forgiving way, she patted the hand that touched her but moved away from his reach on her way to some unnecessary chore. She would accept his kindness as a respite from the raging storm. She kept a watchful eye, though, for the signs of the
