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Not long after, I was passing through the hall when I heard some rather male laughter coming from the studio. It presents a question. At what point is one allowed to feel left out?
Emma M. Lion RIP Not Half So Bad Once Dolled Up
“Well, now I’ll not be able to sleep as I left my long coat in the back room. And have stolen Marge’s birds!”
I dressed primly, my hair twisted in a tasteful, positively righteous bun, and strode up the Diagonal to the church with the confidence of a Puritan.
After piously greeting a few of my neighbours, I sat in my usual row. Not too near the front, not too far back. The sign of a balanced soul.
“Nearly every Sunday.” I spoke in the most holy tone I could manage. “Still waiting for it to take effect, I see.” I very nearly pinched him.
“What a perpetual disappointment is actual society…”
Treasurer for a Ladies Aid Society: Embezzlement being the aim.
And then, because I can’t keep a quiet tongue in my mouth, I added in a whisper, “Betrayer of innocent Thisbes the world over! You rat!”
“We must be our own before we can be another’s.”
Bless a man who knows how to keep his own counsel when you can’t bear to speak.
He said nothing, did nothing but keep me close. I, feeling like a ghost he kept chained to earth.
Then came a shout from the kitchen. “ISLINGTON!”
Reprobates!!
I recognised faces from all of St. Crispian’s, but none to keep me in one place.
