Michael Malone - Weebly

the face she had some difficulty keeping her own
straight. "Though Ernest doesn't lose things," she added.
"I've lived with him thirty years.
He's had the same cigarette case longer than he's
had me. A methodical man."
"I don't know why Ernest doesn't go into politics,"
said Tracy, apropos of nothing, except that all anyone
had ever been able to think of to say about Ransom
was that he should go into politics.
"Why doesn't he?"
"Connaît? He never says anything to me he
wouldn't say at a dinner party. I prefer that," Priss
quickly added. "Intimacy doesn't appeal to me. I like
Ernest because his surface is so deep."
"I think I know what you mean. Oh, my, it's late. I
must go take Vincent some flowers."
Priss's chiseled upper lip twitched at the edge of her
coffee cup.
She rather disapproved of Tracy's increasingly
frequent visits to the grave site of the late Mr. Canopy.
The act smacked of, what? The Pre-Raphaelites. Or
worse, Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Of their foursome,