And I’ve read, and thought, and guessed, and looked—until MY innocence—it’s smirched. “Forgive me,” he said. ’ Triumph leapt in Gerald’s chest. Besides, he might hear things. Gay, by his strokes of pleasantry, whether in his writings or conversation, never lost a friend. He had informed her that to leave him would be a choice to live a life of meager subsistence. Miss Stanley reflected on this proposal for a moment. She slept in a bedroom clad in linens and skins, walked down hallways bedecked in the most gay and colorful frescos. Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote.
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