In Larry’s old Cadillac sedan, she sat in the backseat as Larry drove and Cathy sat beside him. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. . ” She nodded. ” “What?” He asked, confused. “Oh, Lord!” she said, discovering what she was up to, and dropped lightly from the fence upon the turf and went on her way toward the crest. She slipped on white thin-soled tennis shoes with no socks, her ankles exposed as Shari had once suggested they be worn.
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