It was all highly intriguing. Sheila knew that the Eat & Shop on the corner of 53rd and Oleson was a flimsy front for an all-in-the-family whorehouse. “I think everything’s right,” said Ann Veronica, with the roaming eye of a capable but not devoted house-mistress. My birthday was on May first. There was nothing of the phenomenon in this. It was as if she had grown right past her father into something older and of infinitely wider outlook, as if he had always been unsuspectedly a flattened figure, and now she had discovered him from the other side.
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