Nora screwed up her dark eyes at me and asked slowly: “What are you holding out on me?” “Oh, dear,” I said, “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to tell you. Dorothy is really my daughter. I didn’t know what I was doing, Nora. It was spring in Venice and I was so young and there was a moon over the—” “Be funny. Don’t you want something to eat?” “If you do. What do you want?” “Raw chopped beef sandwich with a lot of onion and some coffee.” Dorothy arrived while I was telephoning an all-night delicatessen.
All night delicatessen!
