“Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. “No one asks you to care for them. Teenage boys never change, she thought to herself. She was, as Capes had said, a hard young woman. “That’s what we narcs have to do. “Get out of the car. Ennison kicked it away with his foot. She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. I wonder.
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