She knew, too, she must not hesitate. ‘Don’t be silly. She grew attached to a pair of twins, a boy named Fritz and a girl named Anna, belonging to an auburn-haired Viennese prostitute named Clotilde. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages. He looked just as Julian had the night she had first met him outside the Joliet Laundromat. “I don’t know what you are talking about, Michelle, I truly don’t. I get the worst headaches.
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