"What do you want?" he asked, in a gruff voice. "My wife and daughter, Sir," said the carpenter, introducing them to his guest. Then, as he was trying to bite through the rope, I told him, ‘That’s for 107 Traci, motherfucker. Ann Veronica said she didn’t care. ’ ‘You may not get the chance. She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground. Her time and effort was justly rewarded, because the hard cold facts she knew about neighborhood intrigues were better than fictional soap operas.
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