A child—as innocent as a child! Nothing about life; bemused by the fairy stories you writers call novels! I don't know what you have done; I don't care. ” He said, sucking down some Pepsi. He drove her home that night, kissing her again and again at stoplights. . The sun shined weakly through brief pinpricks 90 in the thick cloud cover, the weather was brewing a storm. Spurlock was invariably at the high desk in the early morning, poring over ledgers, and giving the beach and the stores an occasional glance. And empty. Some day I'm going to paint her; but that will be when I've retired.
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