My only love is for my poor lost son. She almost sprang to her feet. She listened with dumb fear in her eyes. She changed into a halter top and a pair of tight jeans herself, and let Lucy brush her long, glossy hair as they talked about mascara, schoolwork, and boys. Not a moment is to be lost. “I’d give anything,” he remarked, “to see our little Vee happily and comfortably married. ‘What in Hades d’ye mean, thanks to me? Want to blame anyone, blame that rapscallion who calls himself your father. “You poor little girl!” he cried. Love—admiration for your matchless beauty alone sways me. .
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