By Robert B. Parker
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They could make honor roll together. I couldn’t ever remember making honor roll. Probably why my roof leaked. Chapter 6 There are few city places handsomer than Back Bay, Boston. The long rows of brick town houses with their idiosyncratic rooflines and their black iron fences out front marched along the dead-flat landfill streets from the Common to Kenmore Square in parallel with the river. There were brownstone fronts, and occasionally gray granite fronts, and, rarely, marble fronts. But the dominant impression of these three- and four- and five-story contiguous buildings was red brick, softened by age and glazed with the cold November rain.
Yes,” Susan said. ” She put the point of her paring knife into a peeled potato and spun it, gouging out the remnant of an eye. “It’s not that what they wanted for her was so bad—it was that it was so inflexible, and she wasn’t consulted. ” I finished my beer and went to the refrigerator and got another. I noticed with a sense of fast enlarging contentment that there were ten more bottles after this one. ” Susan said. “Absolutely,” I said. Susan finished peeling potatoes. She sliced them and went to the refrigerator and got out a bundle of scallions.
I had April Kyle’s picture in my inside pocket, but I didn’t need it. I’d studied it. I knew what she looked like. At least, I knew what she looked like when she’d had it taken for graduation. The Combat Zone look was a little different. I hadn’t seen a cashmere sweater or a pair of Top-Siders down here in some time. Two girls came out of a bar ahead of me. One was black, one was white. They both wore blond wigs. They both had on slit skirt evening gowns with sequins and cleavage. The white girl wore open-toed sling-back high heels.