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Michael Malone - Weebly

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uckled, they bent and quivered like a single oak tree<br />

storm-tossed among puny birches.<br />

"Fucking in the rain!" Richard exclaimed. "What a<br />

glorious feeling."<br />

"Oh, Richard," moaned Beanie. She was coming<br />

again.<br />

"Don't think."<br />

"I'm not thinking, I'm not thinking at all."<br />

"Don't."<br />

"I won't, I can't, nothing makes any sense."<br />

"Darlin'," he laughed, "there's all kinds."<br />

chapter 8<br />

Dinner at the Ransoms' was always elegantly spare,<br />

permitting the guests to study the design on their dinner<br />

plates. "Lovely china," said the very old Mary<br />

Bredforet, who had often said the same to Ernest's<br />

grandmother, her sister-in-law, fifty years ago. She<br />

smiled benignly around the circle of lyre-backed<br />

Duncan Phyfe chairs, two of which had been removed.<br />

"So peculiar really," said Tracy Canopy to Sidney<br />

Blossom, the librarian, who had been invited because

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