God, I hate these stupid ear infections! Have you ever had one?” Michelle asked. You must forgive the poet’s license I take. He'll be here two or three days. " "Ah, yes; that coat. She could feel his breath on her skin, every hair on her arms and neck raised in response. She, however, had no idea of doing anything of the sort. It was an oldfashioned peasant blouse, white, square necked, and trimmed with lace. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters.
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