"How sweet these roses are! Shall I put them into water?" "Put them where they came from," replied Mrs. “No you don’t!” said Ann Veronica, and walked out at a brisk and businesslike pace toward the house. I want to shout! I want to sing! I am glad! I am glad to be alive because you are alive! I am glad to be a woman because you are a man! I am glad! I am glad! I am glad! I thank God for life and you. Besides, I have my doubts that he is so very sick. Beauty doesn’t mean, never has meant, anything—anything at all but you. Well, I don’t think that’s fair. linked image back linked image back MADEMOISELLE AT ARMS Elizabeth Bailey © 2011 by Elizabeth Bailey All rights reserved.
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