Then, I’d read those books obsessively in the months after it had happened, searching for clues. Failing to find them. The dirty upturned glass capp...ng the bottle would do for tonight’s drinking. The whiskey would sterilize anything creeping therein. The first sip coating my mouth and throat with a warm fuzz, I turned back to the glow of my laptop screen. I raised my glass: ‘To Shelia Quinn. Oh, sorry – Quinn Covey. Now fuck off and leave me alone.’ Wow. Where had that come from? The bitterness. When I emerged from her bathroom, I encountered Miss Foster standing next to her bed. She had changed her clothes. Before she had worn jeans and a short sleeve shirt. Now she was in shorts and a halter that did not conceal her belly button. She was barefoot. I stared at her exquisite legs, then at her bare midrift, then at the slight bulge of her breasts, and finally at her face. She smiled at me in a very familiar way, as though there were no secrets between us. She excited me and I sprouted a. More

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