“How CAN I tell him?” whispered Miss Stanley. Jane was a smoldering auburn-haired Irish beauty who seldom spoke to anyone. Perhaps he had had money in the coat, back in Hong-Kong, and had been robbed without knowing it. “Is Coke okay?” He asked as he pulled into the gas station. She had never dreamed of such decadence, never imagined that young people could be so happy and healthy. Except he was the only idiot who would stay. Never for a moment had violence come between these two since long ago he had, in spite of her mother’s protest in the background, carried her kicking and squalling to the nursery for some forgotten crime.
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