“Mike, what’s going on?” She sat up, groggily rubbing her eyes. By 12:30 a. She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor. He had no use for Ann Veronica; he had never had a use for her since she had been too old to sit upon his knee. She looked down at him and saw that the sunlight was gleaming from his cheeks, and that all over his cheeks was a fine golden down of delicate hairs. He went on munching his water-chestnuts, and stared at the skyline.
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