It was really something to see the shelf that had their books on it. Mrs. Burke was “Judith Hancock” on the cover, which threw you at first,
but then if you looked on the back, there was her picture looking very young and serious.
Mr. Burke was going back and forth to Washington to finish a book he was working on with someone else,
but he had promised Leslie that after Christmas he would stay home and fix up the house
and plant his garden and listen to music and read books out loud and write only in his spare time.
They didn't look like Jess's idea of rich, but even he could tell that the jeans they wore had not come off the counter at Newberry's.
There was no TV at the Burkes', but there were mountains of records and a stereo set that looked like something off Star Trek.
And although their car was small and dusty, it was Italian and looked expensive, too.
They were always nice to Jess when he went over, but then they would suddenly begin talking about French politics or string quartets
(which he at first thought was a square box made out of string), or how to save the timber wolves or redwoods or singing whales,
and he was scared to open his mouth and show once and for all how dumb he was.
He wasn't comfortable having Leslie at his house either. Joyce Ann would stare, her index finger pulling down her mouth and making her drool.
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