Maybe half a year, counting this summer. A discreet husband would leave the dispensation of his bounty, where women are concerned, to his wife. She’d prefer that I read classic literature, of course, but she only reads paperback romance novels, so she can’t exactly complain. “Heavens!” she exclaimed. Very intelligent, by the looks of the books she was carrying. ” “As one friend to another. “Thank you, Martin,” she replied graciously. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. ” “You don’t. She come home within a few months of the wedding.
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