My foster mother, Janine, wasn’t much fatter. She loved him. . The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. At the thought of the major, her tears redoubled and she was obliged to rip off a piece from the remnants of her already maltreated underpetticoats with which to blow her nose and soak the damp from her cheeks. Two of these had been her particular intimates at the High School, and had done much to send her mind exploring beyond the limits of the available literature at home. His bodily suffering, however, was nothing compared with his mental anguish.
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