To be confronted with the girl’s damned Frenchman of a husband was another matter altogether. Sometimes at sea a skipper will order his men to trim, batten down the hatches, and clear the deck of all litter. With delicate touch he rescued all that was possible of them, and made a careful little parcel. He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers. The man could put a bullet through her before she could hope to reach any one of them. He was braver than her husband, who paced and cowered in the corners of the once-sunny Palazzo. She shook her head. “Here we are, living in the same suburb,” he began. So I had to buy out his interest, and it pinched me dreadfully to do it. My foster mom works there as a second job. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. You have only to look resolute and proceed upon your way.
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