I like high tone for a flourish and stars and ideas; but I want my things. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. Her pat answer to all inquiries was, “I let my sister Shari make me over,” while she kept from staring at her own reflection in the shiny shoes past her bare knees. Anna saw it, and for the first time found herself trembling. Good-bye, aunt. ’ ‘What?’ uttered Gerald, startled. ’ He gave the gaping Pottiswick a shove, passing him on to his junior, who was waiting patiently by the kitchen door.
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