I glared at her, molested and somewhat surprised. ‘I need some money,’ she blurted abruptly. Ignoring the request to return to the latest scores,...she shook my arm pensively, and tried to capture my gaze in her own desperate one. ‘How much. . .’ ‘Hundred or so.’ Not knowing her desperation I retorted, ‘Go ask your Mommy.’ That hurt her and she began to withdraw. ‘I’ll fuck you!’ She was reaching. ‘IRS beat you two it kid, excuse me.’ I started to fold the paper. ‘I’ll scream rape.’ ‘Let me. No dice on any of the items on my list. I remarked on my quest to Syd, who lived in Chapel Hill. “QBD Books,” he said in his typically terse manner.“Where’s it at?”“Plaza, south o’ Dymock’s...”I decided to try. Sure enough, they had an American abridgment of the Elizabethan translation of Ariosto’s Orlando Furioso. I bought it and finally got back to work a bit before three.I moved E.O. Wilson’s autobiography, Naturalist, which had arrived last week, aside and began to read my acquisition.. More

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