” “That’s why, in a way, I’m prudish. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. And all this time perhaps you have been waiting, expecting to hear from me. Sheppard. The blast shrieked, as if exulting in its wrathful mission. ” Mike knocked on the thin core door that sealed her and Shari’s bedroom from the outside world. "Why you pretended not to recognize the photograph of the young fellow you toted around these diggings all day yesterday. “But your sister?” he asked.
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