Michael Malone - Weebly

"Oh, Priss, I don't believe Sloan ever said it was the
Lusitania!"
protested Father Highwick's rival, always fair to her
foe.
"Evelyn, à bientôt. I haven't dressed, and Ernest is
home. I hear his golf bag thudding in the foyer."
Ernest Bredforet Ransom trod heavily up the steps
to his wife's room. He had lost the light step but kept
the face and much of the form of an unusually handsome
man. Had sexual self-consciousness ever illumined his
looks, he would have been irresistible to women.
As it was, he continued to resemble Tyrone Power
—for whom, many years ago, he had twice been
mistaken, once by Priss Hancock, who first saw him at
a Mount Holyoke VJ Day dance to which the wounded
war hero, now back at Yale, had been invited by his
childhood friend Beanie Dingley.
Now Ransom almost kissed his wife's high cheek as
she went by him to her closet. "Wanda tells me," he said
conversationally while emptying his pockets onto the
dresser top, "that there's an assaulted Chinese girl in her
kitchen crying, and she adds that it makes her feel