A young woman with a white badge on her arm stood and counted the sections as they entered their vans. “He’s got good taste, you know. ” “Try what?” She asked, coolly assessing his lithe hips. And then she came out into the street, sure only of one thing—that she could not return directly to her lodgings. The world into which she was so boldly venturing was going to be wonderful, but never so wonderful as the world within these paper covers. Shari was to be protected, to be dissuaded from driving in cars with older boys at night, to be steered away from dope and beer and certain friends who had no plans to work or to go to college. “Well, you’ve seen the kitchen and the dining room, but did I show you the basement?” He asked. It seemed older than Rome, and the stone covering it gave resistance. ’ ‘Don’t count on it.
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