Michael Malone - Weebly

alone, Priss."
"Yes, please, Priss, I'm still so upset, you can
imagine." Mrs. Troyes gazed thankfully at Tracy and
Priss, whom phone calls had brought across Elizabeth
Circle. She squeezed each of their hands.
"I'm so lucky to have friends so close."
Tracy's hands were coated with clay; she'd been
throwing a pot.
"Oh, my, I've got you gooey. I was at my wheel
and I just ran over. It's infuriating! And they say they
don't have much hope of ever catching the person. Why
not? What is the world coming to? What is America
coming to?" Mrs. Canopy's spring-apple eyes stared at
the black coil of cable on the red bricks, much as
General Cornwallis might have looked at a "Don't
Tread on Me" flag flapped in his face at Yorktown by
one of Tracy's ancestors. "Things like this did not used
to happen. Did they?"
"Not to people like us," said Priss. "Except every
now and then when the Bastille got stormed." Careful
not to lean her white tunic against broken bamboo, she
sat down gingerly in one of the wing chairs and, lighting