He was disquieted. —I'll give him the edication of a prig,—teach him the use of his forks betimes,—and make him, in the end, as clever a cracksman as his father. What Miss Miniver would have called the Higher Truth supervenes. Sweet sixteen year old Shari, who never once figured out the morning sleep hangovers she suffered monthly. He depended upon her, for his medicine, for his drink, for the little amusement it was now permissible to give him. She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. I wonder how it is,” she added, “that boys always make love so impertinently. ‘She knows them.
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