It was the grand nursery of vice. They flash to and fro, they thrill us with expectancy. ‘Lord, no! I’ve a better regard for my skin, I thank you. ’ ‘Yolande, my maid?’ ‘You don’t need a maid,’ Martha said stoutly. I did all for the best, I'm sure. Michelle was on her like a fly, asking her questions about her past foster homes she did her best to avoid, pretending to be swamped every night with sudden reams of homework and unable to be reached by phone. “You see, I will take your arm.
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