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But as he is not presently in London, I will simply think slanderous thoughts.
“I will go from being a girl who looks like she needs charity to being a girl who looks like she’s received charity.”
I loathe Roland Sutherland. But I worry I might come to tolerate him.
“Anyone who thinks Potiphar’s wife was a good idea has proven himself to be of no sense whatsoever. They can have another attempt at Christianity next week.”
Men are not the excellent gossips women are.
My heart has never bothered with anything but to beat a little faster at a beautiful fabric.
He is very doted upon by the powers that determine such things as beauty.
It was, perhaps, the most wonderful compliment I’ve ever been paid. I intend to keep Roland.
And moving on we did. But not before I smiled at hearing the word betwixt spoken aloud. Betwixt. Betwixt. I digress.
THE VERY LITTLE I KNOW ABOUT YOUR LIFE EXHAUSTS ME.
It is impossible to see above his neck as he is So Very Tall.
I am fond of finding a corner concealed by a palm and listening to the musicians play a beautiful waltz. And when one’s hiding place has been discovered by a tall giraffe of extreme proportions, there is always a library with which to keep company. As was the case last night.
“When I told him you were at church, he said to tell you that you may go to heaven, but it will be boring without him.” “Did he, Agnes?”
That is a lie and I strike it from the record.
“If I cannot worship in a majestic building, I have no interest in the practice,” she snipped. Which I assume is not a direct quote from the New Testament.
