Her pat answer to all inquiries was, “I let my sister Shari make me over,” while she kept from staring at her own reflection in the shiny shoes past her bare knees. I was the black sheep, I was hurried out of the way. Gerald? But could he be here so quickly? She hastily dabbed at her eyes, thankful for the darkness that she saw had come on outside unnoticed, dimming the room. Cathy gave her a bear hug and patted her severe 252 hairdo. He tried again. “This is my way back to my side of the Park,” she said. The windows were small, and strongly grated, looking, in front, on Kendrick Yard, and, at the back, upon the spacious burial-ground of Saint Giles's Church. At other times, it would seem that the sea itself had gone away.
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