The next thing I knew, her companion (mother?) had left and Coulter was standing over me, looking skeptically at my reading material.
‘The Grapes of Wrath, huh?’
‘Yes’ I said, faking composure. ‘It’s fantastic.’
‘It’s a fantastic primer for vacuous proto-Communists everywhere,’ she said dismissively.
‘I don’t know about that..’
She sighed. ‘I don’t have enough ink in my pen to keep a running list of what you don’t know. May I?’
She motioned to the empty chair next to me.
‘Of course.’ It would be fair to say my voice trembled a little.
