We’ll have some buttered toast. "Kingfisher feathers," said Ah Cum. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap. A new thought checked her steps and she froze. She slipped down the perfunctory flight of stairs, short because of the home’s split-level style. When the twins had first come to live in the 208 house, they were thin and bony, their tiny mouths crying for food. My friend the doctor suspected it, and so do I. The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone.
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