Gina, the eleven year old, just couldn’t take it and she ran away. She had flung away from her father’s support with the finest assumption of personal independence. She had had to do away with many a leering foster father since she had started frequenting foster homes in the middle of the century. Ain’t enough as I’ve got militiamen quartered on me this se’ennight, lazing about all day, eating me out of house and home and drinking my liquor into the bargain. You two have a good time. “Do you know that boy very well, Shar?” Cathy Beck yelled in the general direction of the lavatory. She threw hat and coat on the bed and sat down before the fire.
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