Michael Malone - Weebly

there was nothing she needed to ask him. But he stood
there and needed her to speak. "Ask away," he said
again.
"All right. You're a writer?"
He laughed; he had small, white teeth like a child's.
"Ah, well," he said. "Not in fact the question most
people are shy about asking me. Yes, I'm afraid it's
true. Just popular pulp though." His smile went to his
eyes and shut out the other look. "But no one in Dingley
Falls knows, and you mustn't tell a soul. When I came
back home I decided not to mention my hobby. But
you were bound to know. No, no, I'm glad you finally
asked me. Well, I won't keep you from your work. But
I'm glad somebody knows, and I'm glad that it's you.
Have a good day now. In our prime, you know." He
patted the countertop briskly, turned, and left the post
office.
In front of the Tea Shoppe, Luke Packer leaned his
old bike against Polly Hedgerow's new one, as Mr.
Abernathy got out of his son Arthur's Audi, which
Arthur then drove away.