To tell you the truth, he spoke to me very seriously upon the subject. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. You must forgive the poet’s license I take. “You told me that your name was Meysey Hill. As soon as dinner was over she went into the kitchen and devoted herself to compiling a tray—not a tray merely of halfcooled dinner things, but a specially prepared “nice” tray, suitable for tempting any one. Flattened flowers aren’t for the likes of us. Sweet sixteen year old Shari, who never once figured out the morning sleep hangovers she suffered monthly. But this was long ago. For ten years I've been trying to go home, but my conscience will not permit me, I hate the Orient. “Well, my girl, I wish you had thought about all these things before these bothers began.
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