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Everyone cheered. It was a perfect afternoon. After the aeroplanes, Graeme took
them out to dinner at Murray's onYonge Street, south of Bloor. Matthew could see
the marquee of the Uptown Theatre. Dark Victory — with Bette Davis. Graeme
was in the best of moods. "We're in," he said, sitting down in the restaurant, "and
we're going to win." Earlier in the summer they had been to Shanty Bay up north
of the city, where a cottage was rented most years for July and August. There was
See? My new hair-do? All pinned up. It's the latest thing. No more curlers — no
more permanent waves! Brush it out — pile it on top! I love it. Quick and
comfortable. Cheap. And I look — well — maybe just a little like Rita Hayworth."
She posed. "Very nice." "Also — I have sardines. I have soda crackers. I have
beer. Just like all the old times — all our old Saturdays, Gray. Remember? We'd
ditch the kids and have the whole world to ourselves in that nutty cottage up at
Shanty Bay?" Sure.
Matthew had once discovered a photograph of Graeme standing on the dock at
Shanty Bay, wearing his bathing suit, arms akimbo, head thrown back in the sun.
This picture rested, framed in silver, on the dressing-table of Mrs Porter — Sylvia
— once his mother's friend. This had been just before the war. Matthew was eight
. He was visiting Steven Porter, then a school chum in Miss Bransby's class. They
sometimes stayed overnight in one another's houses. Sylvia Porter was the only ...
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LibraryThing ReviewAvis d'utilisateur - lkernagh - LibraryThing
Timothy Findley blew me away with his skill of story telling when I read The Last of the Crazy People last year. He did not disappoint me with this one. The story starts out in our time period as a ... Consulter l'avis complet
LibraryThing ReviewAvis d'utilisateur - Booktrovert - LibraryThing
absolutely amazing. heartbreaking, beautiful, sublime. more complete review to come. Consulter l'avis complet
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