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Show 2k ALL THAT GLITTERS She was eighteen, he was thirty-nine. Still there was heat. Fire. In the beginning Fogarty had been surprised to discover her watching him, as he moved shirtlessly in and out of the Newgate Apartments, to paint empty units, replace broken glass, fix hopeless plumbing. That was in early June. He began to watch back. She wore, always, white shorts and a halter top. Long, dark hair tumbled at her bare brown shoulders. June and she were already tan. And her door, apartment number five, was always open; so that whenever Fogarty entered the Newgate there she was, perfectly framed for him at the end of the dark dusty hall, a painting of the maiden in the castle tower window. He could not say just when it was that he began to let his interest in her show openly; but more and more often that month he hesitated |