She had had to do away with many a leering foster father since she had started frequenting foster homes in the middle of the century. You did not see me, I know. “There are policemen—and buses. Something insisted that those two were mysteriously linked—that the woman knew the man was there. There was a moment’s breathless and disappointed silence. And if she was ever found living in the area like that, homeless, John could somehow find out. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. Was he, too, on the way to the beach? What a pity! All alone, and none to warn him of the abject wretchedness at the end of Drink.
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