‘No, let me guess,’ he interrupted. She was to fall back amongst the ruck, a young woman of talent, content perhaps to earn a scanty living by painting Christmas cards, or teaching at a kindergarten. She tried not to pant, not to reveal herself, and she began to shake. I deemed it more prudent to send him to the Dark House than to bring him here, in case of any search after him by his adoptive father—the carpenter Wood. She hated tricking Shari, whose joy for life was the only thing that made her naive enough to fall for laced iced tea or hot cocoa, depending on the season. Oppositely, she wore her gym shirt oversized so that she could tuck it into the tight shorts, creating a mushroom effect that was de rigeur among the popular crowd who had invented it. “He was a friend of your sister’s, was he not?” “I never heard her mention his name,” she answered.
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