Michael Malone - Weebly

sounded like childish fingers waggled in ears and a
tongue stuck out.
Because Ramona Dingley had been a boisterous girl
of ten when the Bredforets had married (in the social
event of 1914), the old couple continued to think of her
as she had appeared in a corner of their wedding
portrait—hanging in her lace dress from the porch
fence, one black buttoned shoe kicked out at air—to
think of her as someone far too young and agile to be as
ill as she now claimed to be:
"Still fooling around in that wheelchair, Ro? Here,
let me take a ride in it."
"William! Let her have her own motor, for heaven's
sake."
"Thank you, Mary. Be back in a minute. Don't let
him set the house on fire." Miss Dingley spun her
wheelchair in a tight circle, then putted across the hall to
the dining room.
Wandering through her parlor, Bredforet poked a
trim, manicured finger into one of the holes in the lifesized
wood carving of Christ that hung on the wall.
"Mary, the fact is that Ignatius Dingley was mad as a