. it wasn’t llike that . . .”Glenda’s mouth twisted contemptuously. “What was it like then?” she demanded. “Tell me . . . tell me . . . te...l me, trollop . . .”Julia, still sobbing, fought to find coherent words. “N-Not like that . . .” she could be heard saying. “I . . . I was in l-love with one .. .” A flurry of sobbing and tears. “And . . . and the others w-were . . .just n-nothing . . . really . . .”Glenda laughed. “Nothing!” she said. “Nothing, eh? So . . . five different cocks up you. He’d never wear that again. To him it was a jinx to wear funeral clothes past the time of the burial. Uncle Santino had done such a thing, wearing them to a second wake. He had a coronary the very next day. The toss of clothing was simply proof that Damien had been brought up with strict Catholicism dipped in a thick portion of superstition. Bare to the chest, Damien took a second to thumb the pink scar from the last time he was shot. Right in the hip had gone the slug. It had spun the olive. More

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