Dicky thought of Allison. He remembered her sleepy eyes in the morning, her long cool fingertips on his chest, and the kind way that she corrected any words that he mispronounced when he read to her in an effort to improve his powers of elocution. Something burned the edges of his eyes like the bites of fire ants, and his vision blurred. “You’re taking this a lot worse than I expected,” chided Godfrey. “You could always go for her friend—she’s glanced this way a couple of times since the one with black hair dozed off.” “I am thinking about something else.” “You want to talk about her?” “I
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