Shrines of Gaiety

by Kate Atkinson

The Cokers all had very eloquent eyebrows.

“You are so sensible, Miss Kelling,” Mr. Pollock often said to her. “Sensible” was a very uninspiring adjective in Gwendolen’s opinion, possibly bordering on insult.

She may as well have joined a holy order, so cloistered did her life grow between the Library and Mother.

Many things were lost—wars and keys and hearts and boys at sea—but family fortunes, even modest ones, were stolen.

Gwendolen’s mother had been a foolish woman, inclined to believe any passing nonsense. Of such people were patriots made, in Gwendolen’s opinion. More’s the pity.

It was so very easy to light Mr. Pollock’s fuse and then watch him go off.

“Don’t worry. I will be sensible, I promise. I am known for it, unfortunately.”

to what end would you give a woman a knife?, she puzzled. It was an invitation to a stabbing,

yelling at him that he was a dark-hearted bastard who deserved to die,

liked to keep his virtues well hidden from the

world.

“Pour encourager les autres,

Frobisher felt his soul shrivel.