By Russell Thayer “Doctor Vatel will see you now, Miss Davis.” The receptionist wrinkled her aggressively tweezed eyebrows. “What’s it been? Two weeks?” “Where’s Doctor Dymple?” asked Gunselle from her green leather chair. “He quit. Couldn’t take it anymore.” “That old cream puff couldn’t knock the skin off a rice pudding,” said Gunselle as she closedContinue reading “The Illustrated Moll”