”“Her husband will hunt you down and kill you.”“I didn’t see ring, or a scar or a tan line.”“OK, it’s your ass.”“Not mine yet, but...I have high hopes,” I smiled and raised my eyebrows.I walked over to the woman, who was staying out of the mayhem, but watching carefully as many men hit on all of the girls.“Excuse me,” I said without touching her.“Yes.”“Are all of those yours?”“Only for tonight. The birthday girl is my daughter.”“How did you get an eighteen-year-old in here?”“Thank you for that.. I suspected if her late husband was swiving her a score of times each day, she would still have been ready for more.The rector proved to be a florid man of middle years with a huge belly and a too-small wig. His eyes were piggy and bloodshot; his breath rancid. I told him that I had met the Widow Pomeroy, and that she suggested he might be interested in some young girls I was bringing in from the farm country."Did she?" he said, inviting me in. I told him that I could supply him with a fresh. Mary opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Now, excuse me, I have to bring these children to the chapel for the after-school activities, see you tomorrow, Mrs. Domica,” he said, straightening his glasses. Then, leading the children to the chapel, he disappeared down the hallway. Mary was left alone in her classroom, a look of confusion splashed across her face. Frustration creased her brow. What was that? Waite hadn’t even heard her out, hadn’t bothered to. “She actually was enrolled in her PhD, at 22, and received her degree a year later. They immediately hired her, gave her a full professorship after a year, and made her assistant dean with this semester. She’s only 25, for Pete’s sake. So I didn’t really get to see her for almost a year after I got her pregnant. She’d drove me out to the farm once, and she was affectionate, but she was pregnant and very busy.“A month and a half after Rachel was born, I called Cheryl,” I continued, “I was in.