laughing at me the entire time. Just you wait."
Bit decided this was a good time to exit and promptly did so. After all, she had her food. What more did she need?
9.2
It was a week after Thomas left, and Jane was still rather blatantly pining over his lovely, piney green eyes. She’d thought of quite a few wonderful shades of green to compare her darling’s eyes with. These included, but were not limited to, pine green, emerald green, honeydew green, leaf green, fresh-spring-grass green, ivy green, and, her favorite and (in Jane’s opinion) the crowning glory of all greenness: luna-moth-wing-green-only-a-little-darker. Of course, she’d also thought of some less-handsome shades that his eyes could be referred to as, such as frog green, pea green, algae ocean green, rotten apple green, and bog slime green. She dried not to think of those so much, though.
At the moment, she was considering whether asparagus green was a good green or a bad green - it sounded awful (asparagus!) - but when you thought about it, the vegetable was really a very nice, pale springy-sort of green with little purple tips. Not really like Thomas’s eyes, but a good color nonetheless. But what an atrocious name.
Jane’s real reason for contemplating this, though, was that she really didn’t want to listen to Emma, who was sitting across from her in Porter’s parlor, prattling blithely away about Lord-knows-what while Rose and Simon crawled all over their mother. Occasionally, Jane would throw in a convincing ‘mm, that’s terrible,’ or perhaps a ‘uh-huh’ or a ‘really?’, just to keep Emma satisfied and talking. For, of course, if Emma was talking, nothing else could possibly occur.
Or could it?
There was a loud knock on the door. Jane, grateful for an excuse to escape Emma’s rather mind-numbing presence stood up rather quickly. "I’ll go get that, Emma, don’t you worry about moving too much."
She hurried to the door, patting down unruly strands that seemed to think the humidity was the perfect opportunity to escape, and pulled it open, gasping at who she saw standing there, failing at looking woeful.
What an unwelcome visitor. It was, of course, her dearly beloved, Gregory Radcliff, obviously around on his weekly trip for forgiveness. Jane squeaked and slammed the door shut before he
Bit decided this was a good time to exit and promptly did so. After all, she had her food. What more did she need?
9.2
It was a week after Thomas left, and Jane was still rather blatantly pining over his lovely, piney green eyes. She’d thought of quite a few wonderful shades of green to compare her darling’s eyes with. These included, but were not limited to, pine green, emerald green, honeydew green, leaf green, fresh-spring-grass green, ivy green, and, her favorite and (in Jane’s opinion) the crowning glory of all greenness: luna-moth-wing-green-only-a-little-darker. Of course, she’d also thought of some less-handsome shades that his eyes could be referred to as, such as frog green, pea green, algae ocean green, rotten apple green, and bog slime green. She dried not to think of those so much, though.
At the moment, she was considering whether asparagus green was a good green or a bad green - it sounded awful (asparagus!) - but when you thought about it, the vegetable was really a very nice, pale springy-sort of green with little purple tips. Not really like Thomas’s eyes, but a good color nonetheless. But what an atrocious name.
Jane’s real reason for contemplating this, though, was that she really didn’t want to listen to Emma, who was sitting across from her in Porter’s parlor, prattling blithely away about Lord-knows-what while Rose and Simon crawled all over their mother. Occasionally, Jane would throw in a convincing ‘mm, that’s terrible,’ or perhaps a ‘uh-huh’ or a ‘really?’, just to keep Emma satisfied and talking. For, of course, if Emma was talking, nothing else could possibly occur.
Or could it?
There was a loud knock on the door. Jane, grateful for an excuse to escape Emma’s rather mind-numbing presence stood up rather quickly. "I’ll go get that, Emma, don’t you worry about moving too much."
She hurried to the door, patting down unruly strands that seemed to think the humidity was the perfect opportunity to escape, and pulled it open, gasping at who she saw standing there, failing at looking woeful.
What an unwelcome visitor. It was, of course, her dearly beloved, Gregory Radcliff, obviously around on his weekly trip for forgiveness. Jane squeaked and slammed the door shut before he
