The One Hundred Years of Lenni and Margot

by Marianne Cronin

Nothing really mattered except that I was in the Rose Room and Margot was beside me.

“I read at least one mystery book a week, I can’t get enough of them. My dad says he doesn’t like them, says they give me ideas.”

Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

“She’s lying. I sleep with my eyes open.” “You do not.” “Like Frankenstein’s monster.”

“So I’m famous now?” “Among a group of recently retired priests, yes.” “That’s always been the dream.”