Why? Because Howard Spurlock the author dared not risk the liberty of Howard Spurlock the malefactor; because there were still some dregs in this cup of irony. And I want you for myself—for my wife. Pull yourself together, Annabel! I must have the truth. “It is a great art,” she said in broken English. " Many wrinkles appeared at the corners of Ah Cum's slant eyes—as if the sun hurt—but the rest of his face remained as passive as a graven Buddha's. She breathed deeply of the starch of his shirt. Only au revoir. For the first time in her life she had heard music; the door to enchanted sounds had been flung wide. She put her hand in his to be squeezed. He walked her home. I got a rusty bolt cutter.
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