Something’s going on. Come on, don’t be trying to snow a snowman,” I said.My daughter suddenly looked angry, very angry, and that with me!“Dad...y!” she said.“Daddy?” I said. She knew what I meant.“Yes, fucking daddy!” she blurted. Her language got my immediate attention. Whatever it was that she was here for it wasn’t my relationship with Marian Carton. That might turn out to be a related matter, but it clearly was not the main matter; I’d have put money on that one.“Excuse me?” I said, reacting. "Why not the library?" I said, pushing her pointed bubbies up out of their whalebone shelter like a pair of gourds from a too-small sack. They gleamed white in the pale light, tipped with dark, bulbous knobs."Never," she panted, yanking up her stays with her thumbs beside her plump mounds, taking my hand and leading me toward the back of the house in surprisingly long strides for such a short woman. We entered a side door into a small room, which I figured out was a pantry once my eyes got. More

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