“So you’re the one my son has been talking about. ’ ‘Success?’ Her eyes narrowed. I tried. ’ Gerald tutted. Possessed, at one time, of a share in the South Sea stock, he conceived himself worth twenty thousand pounds. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. His voice propelled her to cry even harder, so hard that she began to laugh behind her tears. Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. " "You're a damn fool, too!" exploded the trader.
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