Aye, wee Ruthie McLaren, a gal after my own heart. Any fifteen year-old with a penchant for thievery, and men met in movie houses, quickens the heart of this tender lad. Sure, she might have been better off at the College of Ave Maria than at Mary’s Beauty College, but with her autodidactic doctorate in Acquiring Fur Coats, apparently she doesn’t need either institution.
Hard to tell from where she hailed, as there’s no 23…the house numbers go from 19 to 25:
And what, pray tell, is the deal with this structure – had it been a modest battenboard-clad house, onto which were built multiple units?
Only Ruthie can tell us now. I picture her as still smelling faintly of delicately toasted host wafers, and sacramental wine, and freshly dressed hair.