Lying On The Floor, With The Carved

As Usual, The Note Occupied Less Than A Page And Included Neither Salutation Nor Closing, Uncle Hal's Opinion Being That Since The Letter Had A Direction Upon It, The Intended Recipient Was Obvious, The Seal Indicated Plainly Who Had Written It, And He Did Not Waste His Time In Writing To Fools.

When You're Reading, You're Not Where You Are; You're In The Book. By The Same Token, I Can Write Anywhere.

A Cold Supper, Were You Thinking? I Asked Dubiously. I Was Not, He Said Firmly, I Mean To Light A Roaring Fire In The Kitchen Hearth, Fry Up A Dozen Eggs In Butter, And Eat Them All, Then Lay Ye Down On The Hearth Rug And Roger Ye 'till You - Is That All Right? He Inquired, Noticing My Look. 'til I What? I Asked Fascinated By His Description Of The Evening's Program. 'til Ye Burst Into Flame And Take Me With Ye, I Suppose, He Said, And Stooping, Swooped Me Up Into His Arms And Carried Me Across The Darkened Threshold.

I Had Kissed My Share Of Men, Particularly During The War Years, When Flirtation And Instant Romance Were The Light-minded Companions Of Death And Uncertainty. Jamie, Thought, Was Something Different. His Extreme Gentleness Was In No Way Tentative; Rather It Was A Promise Of Power Known And Held In Leash; A Challenge And A Provocation The More Remarkable For Its Lack Of Demand. I Am Yours, It Said. And If You Will Have Me, Then.

I Didn't Want To Tell The Story Of What Makes Two People Come Together, Although That's A Theme Of Great Power And Universality. I Wanted To Find Out What It Takes For Two People To Stay Together For Fifty Years -- Or More. I Wanted To Tell Not The Story Of Courtship, But The Story Of Marriage.