“But, I have like thirty pages left, if you don’t mind waiting for me to see if the grandkids escape.” His wicked grin gives me no spoilers on the book's ending, and I love it. “I don’t mind waiting for you, Flora.” I smile at that, flipping over on my stomach and kicking my feet up with my paperback, and climb into another world of arsenic-laced donuts and twisted desires. Shockingly, Flowers In The Attic is very much not about flowers in an attic. Who would’ve thought?
