"I read those stories. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. “Yes, I have heard of him, and I know him by sight,” he admitted. He was waiting in the outer hall as she tiptoed in. Shari was to be protected, to be dissuaded from driving in cars with older boys at night, to be steered away from dope and beer and certain friends who had no plans to work or to go to college. Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. They heard voices inside but stood for a full thirty seconds looking at each other.
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