’ *** Martha sniffed dolefully, scrubbing at her reddened eyes with a large square of damp linen. The by now familiar dramatic sigh came. Such ambitions as he had were stereotyped and material. I can keep you. Thank you for walking me home the other day. My foster mom works there as a second job. She receded into the entryway, opening her palm and gesturing as if there were an imaginary red carpet rolled out for visitors. Her eye wandered quickly over that riotous and disorderly assemblage, until it settled upon one group more riotous and disorderly than the rest, of which her son formed the principal figure.
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