The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. “Homely?” “Well, yeah, that’s what he said. A white apron was tied round his waist, and into the apron was thrust a short thick truncheon, which looked very much like a rolling-pin. But you have, haven’t you?’ He tutted again. ‘Comment? You have then met this Suzanne?’ The woman turned a deep red. I could always 108 tell right away whether my new foster home was going to be good or bad.
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