Michael Malone - Weebly

maintained one of the alleged victims, whose name
was not disclosed.'
"Art is being sexually abused," concluded Mrs.
Canopy, who, since her widowhood, had given her
heart over to Art.
"Art who?" asked the playful Priss Ransom.
"Oh, dear, I hope not," sighed Mrs. Blanchard
Troyes, née Evelyn Goff, briefly of the Peabody
Institute.
"I don't know what," confessed the president, her
jaw as stubborn as Woodrow Wilson's. "But something
must be done to save Art for future generations. Here
we are in the most idealistic country in the world, but
how can we hold up the torch to other nations if the
torch is covered, well, if it is covered with spittle?"
The heart of Mrs. Canopy had been before jostled
but not dislodged from its place in line before the ticket
booth of Art, where she had faithfully stood alone since
the main curtain of Life, as the rector put it, had fallen
on Vincent seven years ago. After Mr. Canopy had
died in the reception line of their twentieth wedding
anniversary celebration, Tracy had lent out to homeless