She ran through the backyards of Pinecrest subdivision, piano wire and a slim jim tucked into her pantyhose. Wouldn't it be fun to see his name on a book-cover some day? He'll go strutting up and down without ever dreaming he owed the whole shot to us. She mentioned, with familiar respect, Christ and Buddha and Shelley and Nietzsche and Plato. A shaft of searing heat plunged downward. Wanton! Had I been one, even God would have forgiven me, understanding. Nay, for aught I know, some of them may even now have got scent of me.
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