Michael Malone - Weebly

Vietnamese girl. Nor was she certain why she had felt it
necessary to warn Winslow Abernathy against calling
her at home, except she knew it was necessary that
John not be challenged by so much as a thought that
Abernathy presumed an interest in her—whether the
thought were true or not.
After dinner the routine that kept them safe from
intimacy had reasserted itself. Haig had announced his
need to catch up, reclining, on the news of the world.
She had saved the papers for him. From her knitting
(the many-colored scarf she thought of as Sammy
Smalter's was almost finished), Mrs. Haig looked over
at her husband, now after a shower, in a summer police
shirt and trousers. His legs extended, longer than she
had remembered them, out from the crackling
newspaper. Inside the enormous socks, his toes were
moving. He made continual tiny noises in his throat and
mouth and with his fingers and by shifting his weight in
the vinyl chair.
She felt an easing of pressure because it was almost
nine o'clock; he would have to leave soon for the
station to take over patrol until eleven. Then suddenly