Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits. The natural gaiety of the place seemed to have affected them both. “I do wish you and your father could come to some agreement. The Tigress went prowling for nut, too. I rather think they have kicked him, from the tone of some of the letters. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. She confronted him with his own double-standard. After all, she was a consummate actress.
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