Her father’s step quickened to a trot. “Let me get you some water, Annabel. My Mom and Dad were on the brink of divorce, what else is new, they still are. “I’ve brought you up some dinner, Vee,” she said. He next searched for his stockings and shoes, and when found, put them on. “We’ll go to a place where we can have a private room,” he said. Henry Clay, thirteen cents in Hong-Kong and two-bits in that dear old New York. The Law was around the corner and down the narrow hall, puffing a Virginia Slims Menthol in frantic sips, teetering uncomfortably out of an emergency exit door. In a second the glass lay shattered upon the carpet. You aren’t afraid of thunder, are you?” He asked. On some insane score she fancied she had to state her case in verse.
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