| OCR Text |
Show kk glass. "The letter," he said, "was from the Irish Sweepstakes." He put on his most official face. "It was addressed . . . to Occupant ." Sparkle appeared, at Fogarty1s door and to his surprise, just before midnight. She was carrying her white high-heeled shoes in her hand, by the thin white straps, and tears brimmed from her eyes which had been cleaned of mascara. Fogarty let her in, sat her down, but was resolved to keep his distance. "I got the money," she said, "but now it's gone. Can I stay with you tonight?" "You're exactly twenty-four hours late," he said. "I know that," she said. "I know. I haven't even been home yet." Then she hasn't seen the notice, thought Fogarty. The tears now ran freely down her face. She reminded him of a kitten, pulled from the well. "What happened?" he asked. "I borrowed the money from a friend of mine, who sells furniture, you know, used. Well, hot. Four hundred. But I had to wait until this morning to get it, and then when I did I decided to go see my parents because it breaks me up that we don't get along. I took them some groceries." Fogarty sat down next to her on the couch. Then he stood up again. Out of the corner of his eye-through the window and across |
