Red velvet curtains rustled under dim lights as the door shut with a heavy snap. ” Mike left shortly after Martin’s parents. ‘Damn you, what’s the matter with you?’ he snapped in frustration. ” “Why in Heaven’s name should I forget?” he cried. This foster child’s name was Mary Lucia Iovelli, and we have photographic documents of a woman who looks exactly like you, dear. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. She had treated him badly; she had hurt him and her aunt; she had done wrong by their standards, and she would never persuade them that she had done right.
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