It was Jamie, JAMIE BEAUFORT-STUART. Even in tossing shadows and under a waxing moon I knew him, and he saw me at the same time. He dropped his bicycle and we leaped for each other like kangaroos. He burst out, “MA—” He nearly said my name. He caught himself and stammered a little, then smoothly cried out, “MA CHÉRIE!” and slung me over backward in a swooning Hollywood kiss.
otp forever and ever
