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"
Whoee
,
Candy
girl
,
what
are
we
in
now
?
Is
this
real
?
Are
we
in
an
asylum
?
Man
!
"
She
was
bigger
than
Candy
,
and
maybe
five
years
older
,
and
had
tried
to
lock
her
bay-colored
hair
in
a
stylish
bun
at
the
back
of
her
head
,
but
it
kept
stringing
down
around
her
broad
milk-fed
cheekbones
,
and
she
looked
like
a
cowgirl
trying
to
pass
herself
off
as
a
society
lady
.
Her
shoulders
and
breasts
and
hips
were
too
wide
and
her
grin
too
big
and
open
for
her
to
ever
be
called
beautiful
,
but
she
was
pretty
and
she
was
healthy
and
she
had
one
long
finger
crooked
in
the
ring
of
a
gallon
of
red
wine
,
and
it
swung
at
her
side
like
a
purse
.
"
How
,
Candy
,
how
,
how
,
how
do
these
wild
things
happen
to
us
?
"
She
turned
around
once
more
and
stopped
,
with
her
bare
feet
spread
,
giggling
.
"
These
things
do
n't
happen
,
"
Harding
said
to
the
girl
solemnly
.
"
These
things
are
fantasies
you
lie
awake
at
night
dreaming
up
and
then
are
afraid
to
tell
your
analyst
.
You
're
not
really
here
.
That
wine
is
n't
real
;
none
of
this
exists
.
Now
,
let
's
go
on
from
there
.
"
"
Hello
,
Billy
,
"
Candy
said
.
"
Look
at
that
stuff
,
"
Turkle
said
.
Candy
straight-armed
one
of
the
bottles
awkwardly
toward
Billy
.
"
I
brought
you
a
present
.
"
"
These
things
are
Thorne
Smithian
daydreams
!
"
Harding
said
.
"
Boy
!
"
the
girl
named
Sandy
said
.
"
What
have
we
got
ourselves
into
?
"
"
Shhhh
,
"
Scanlon
said
and
scowled
around
him
.
"
You
'll
wake
up
those
other
bastards
,
talking
so
loud
.
"
"
What
's
the
matter
,
stingy
?
"
Sandy
giggled
,
starting
to
turn
in
her
circle
again
.
