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Then she lowered her lashes until they almost cuddled her cheeks and slowly raised them again, like a theater curtain.
The General spoke again, slowly, using his strength as carefully as an out-of-work show-girl uses her last good pair of stockings.
It seemed like a nice neighborhood to have bad habits in.
About the only part of a California house you can't put your foot through is the front door.
"Two coffees," I said. "Black, strong and made this year."
It seemed a little too pat. It bad the austere simplicity of fiction rather than the tangled woof of fact.
She bent over me again. Blood began to move around in me, like a prospective tenant looking over a house.
