Michael Malone - Weebly

immediate transference to another female, lest I famish,
go naked in rags, smother in dirt, die of neglect.
"You'll need to eat, Winslow," Tracy Canopy had
added in a postscript to her sonnet. "Let me have you
over, something simple."
"Dear Winslow, the house." Evelyn Troyes had
stopped by his office to remind him. "Shall I send my
Orchid over? And then your laundry?"
"It never helps to be alone," counseled Sloan
Highwick, "and we could drive to a new Chinese place
I heard about where your legs don't go numb from all
that MSG, and honestly I've often thought I'd had a
stroke from some of those dishes. But it's only twenty
miles or so south of us. Or west."
"Priss thought," Ernest Ransom had phoned, "we
could all have dinner at the Club tonight. Sound okay?
Their scampi, you know."
"I gather the whole town has heard. Tell me, Ernest,
were you having a town meeting at your house last
night?"
"No need to take that tone. Just thought you might
feel a little at loose ends. Never mind then."