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Chapter 12

When the figure on the porch came forward from the gloom of the wet day, Ruth drew in a gasp. The short, square woman with a round, flushed face peered at her over her rain-speckled glasses. The woman's hair had definitely gone much grayer and thinner than the last time Ruth had seen her.

"Momma?"

"Well! I don't know what 'a penny for a pound' means in this gosh-darn, cold, wet place! And what in God's name is a 'Euro-dollar?' I can't even get what a 'pence' means." She shook a rolled-up newspaper in Ruth's face. "This is a great picture of Bubba-a detestable ugly mug if ever I saw one."

The harsh, bravado voice resounded against the porch's slate walls. Ruth certainly never imagined her mother would brave the seas and air to come to England, but she had never been so relieved. "Is it really you?"