She was pulling the suitcase behind her. It made sense now. She was wearing jeans, a winter jacket, wedge heels. Slightly dishelleved, slightly dirty ... like she hadn't showered in days. Which would also make sense.I could have dragged her into a corner and ****d her, and no-one would have cared. But I suspect that she probably wouldn't have cared much either. Bears shit in the woods, the Pope is Catholic, homeless girls get ****d. Where's the fun in that? Where's the challenge?I decided against. They had been the inspiration he had needed to leash his affliction. When they had had met (well, he had met Mary first) at Harvard, It had been unchained and a daily presence in his life. Meeting the Abernathy sisters, those brilliant, funny, and beautiful women, had made him decide it was time to check himself before he irrevocably wrecked himself. And everyone else, too. He had gone to every meeting possible, sat with a half dozen psychiatrists and even a few hypnotists, ironic as it might. More

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