In the Palace of Pleasure, he made his way past the peep shows, the slot machines, and the quoites to a shooting booth. The shelves of dolls stared down with glassy innocence, like Virgins in a church repository. The Boy looked up; chestnut ringlets, blue orbs, and painted cheeks; he thought - Hail Mary .... in the hour of our death. "I'll have six shots,' he said.

1968.