When Sheila was in a bad mood, she berated her new foster daughter for streaks on the windows, dust on the figurines, for crooked bed sheet corners, and floors that had not been waxed properly. "Quilt!—Mendez!—Where are you?" vociferated Wild, sounding his whistle for the third time. The applause was uproarious at the end of the concert. She had been forced to buy herself that pair of boots and a walking-skirt, and the pearl necklace at the pawnbrokers’ had yielded very disappointingly. “I think we are growing sensible,” he said. She could see that she was now the exclusive object of the boy’s attention. Get the pole out of your ass. ’ ‘Certainly that is true. A friend of mine, Ogilvy’—I suppose that’s Ogilvy & Ogilvy, who do so many divorces, Vee?—‘was speaking very highly of it—very highly!’” He smiled into her eyes.
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