‘Oh, we was always in there, miss,’ admitted Joan, moving closer. “I’ll get a towel. He was the social order; he was law and wisdom. Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. Gerald’s thoughts raced as he reached out supporting hands and murmured meaningless phrases to soothe. Soup would help you feel better, soup and hot tea. Then he had gone away. She confided in me yesterday. “Your house is so huge. "Suppose we go and have tea? I'd like to take you to a teahouse I know, but we'll go to the Victoria instead.
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