Lennie was out every day, presumably searching for a job, more likely trying to make his fortune at the races, but Evie lounged about the house in the proper manner of a guest. My mother worked two days a week at the sewing factory—her many ailments passing through a period of abatement, Rosely worked in a shop at Chesterville Road, Howie was at school, and so was I, seeing out time until my first venture into the workforce. And so, most of time, it was hard to know how Evie filled her days. One morning I noticed her varnishing her fingernails when I left for school, and by the time I returned that evening, she had progressed all the way to her toenails. She did vacuum the floors once, and helped my mother hang the washing when her back was bad. But mostly she lounged about, staying in bed late and early, or flopped carelessly in a chair before the television.
    One evening, the inevitable contact was made. I was just toe-testing the bath water in preparation to popping myself in when the door flew open and in she flounced. To my credit, I made no attempt to cover my private parts in the manner of the worst British movies, in fact I remained completely unable to react in any way. “Oops, sorrr-eee,” she grinned, and arched her eyebrows in a most intriguing way as her gaze blatantly travelled down my torso. After far too long a pause, she backed out again and restored my privacy. I remained, completely immobile—if you disregard the fact that the extremity of my penis made every effort to independently follow her out the door.

.. ‘We look like Adam and Eve in your picture Bible,’ she added casually.
They were used to each other. They had been swimming here for what seemed many, many summers.
 ‘Adam and Eve had leaves on. Don’t you remember, Renee?’
 `Uh huh. Let’s get some leaves and put ‘em on.’
... ‘How’ll we put them on?’ Renee demanded practically.
Parris looked at them quizzically. `I don’t know.’
 ‘In the pictures, they was always just stuck on.’
 ‘Maybe they had glue.’
 ‘Maybe.’
 Suddenly he laughed. He punched a hole in a large leaf and affixed it by a simple but not exactly modest device.
Renee laughed very loud. She bent over, crossing her arms on her stomach and danced with mirth. ‘Oh, my, that’s funny! But it looks nasty. Anyhow, I can’t do that.’
 ‘Try some mud. Maybe it’ll stick,’ he suggested.
    The first dirty bit I ever discovered in a book (after at least a year of searching), in Harry Belleman’s King’s Row, which actually was pretty good for its time and type. The respectable town doctor is in fact screwing his own daughter and gets rid of a young rival by giving him an unnecessary double leg amputation. Quite a scandal for a small town.