She gulped hers and I sipped mine. It was awful, raw stuff not even fit to call white lightening but probably sold as rye.She sat on her unmade, swayb...cked bed and looked at me, the empty glass between her knees. She dumped the shawl behind her and fluffed out her dark hair. Her bulging breasts stretched the tight dress's low-cut bodice. It obviously had been a good dress at one time."How you been?" she asked, arching an eyebrow."Busy," I said, looking at her. She was more than dirty, her hair. Time and again, Mrs. Fitzmaurice had to find a bottle of ‘her finest’, to fill glasses and to toast her nephew’s benefactors. Harriet felt more than a little intoxicated when she bade good night to her hostess and her friends. Jenny helped her undress and lie down, and that was the last Harriet remembered of the day.When Harriet woke, it was late in the morning, and Michael O’Shaunessy had already left. Mrs. Fitzmaurice served breakfast, urging Harriet to eat, claiming that she was too thin.. More

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