“Really? Like 37 who?” “Corinne Carver, for one. “I wonder,” he said, “how you would like to be made love to—boldly or timorously or sentimentally. It was as if the Devil himself had raped and defiled her mother. Probably she mistook you; probably she thought you cared. To make Ruth pay for the whole shot! To wash away his sin by crucifying her: that was precisely what he had set about. There were groves of cultivated guava, orange, lemon, and pomegranate. Something he saw there had a curious effect upon him. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. My last foster father in Alabama before the Becks was a heavy drug abuser.
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