Happy Thanksgiving. She thought study would be better. . But I'll never part with your irons. In the recess beside the fireplace were some open bookshelves. She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed. Do you know what? You're some sea goddess and you're only fooling us. She found the silence comforting, as old people often do. The hardest bout I ever had was with a woman—Sally Wells, who was afterwards lagged for shoplifting. The bleach had ruined it, with yellow-orange streaks invading the frizzy white that cascaded in wavy tendrils coated with greasy hairspray. Wood.
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