Breakfast was laid for one, a dish of fruit and a shining coffee equipage. And in those days, too, he used to help her mother with her gardening, and hover about her while she stood on the ladder and hammered creepers to the scullery wall. Shari was to be protected, to be dissuaded from driving in cars with older boys at night, to be steered away from dope and beer and certain friends who had no plans to work or to go to college. But there was no sign from her. “If I had three hands,” she said, with a faint smile, “I would give one to each of you.
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