Michael Malone - Weebly

By a languid shake of her hair, which she was now
ready to brush, Emerald gestured her unfamiliarity with
her sister's schedule.
On her way out, Mrs. Ransom picked up a lace slip
from the floor; she put it on a pale green chair and gave
it a pat—it was one of hers. "Please try not to be too
long. Emerald? Try not to be too long. As usual, the
rector has come early and is undoubtedly down there
already, lapping up the gin like a dipsomaniacal kitten.
Chang Chow or whatever she calls herself has sobbed
Wanda's consommé quite soggy, and I feel like standing
out in the middle of the rain howling like the call of the
wild."
Her head curved sideways into her dark, glossy
curls, Emerald frowned simultaneously at her mother
and a split end.
Downstairs, Priss interrupted her imminent son-inlaw,
Arthur Abernathy, who stood alone in the library
staring at a photograph of the infant Emerald.
"Arthur, did you call your mother again?"
"Yes," said the lanky, unsettled merger of Winslow
Abernathy's bones and Beanie Dingley's flesh. "There