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Show Jeffries, Section 3, Page 71 "This is how it was!" Up on a widow's walk. The gray sea crawling on three sides, a reef, and below, in the sheer weight of the water, wood and steel, the drowned, slipping motion of a hulk. Down, down the stairs, and making for an item of cozy, stuffed furniture. A painted top in a corner. Marjoram's archaic toy, the heaviness of those old carved toys. Little Marjoram was a nervous animal in this weather. She was primping and fussing at her little dressing table. "Now it's the beauty thing," February said, "Ever since that girl up in Tavernier got to be Junior Orange Bowl Queen." "Good-bye, you," Dory winked down. He bent to kiss her on the forehead, but she stretched and took it on the mouth. "This week she wants to be Miss America. What do you think? She's a doll, I can see that, but I guess a mother isn't the most objective--" "Yeah, she'll make it," Dory replied, "If she doesn't get defaulted on a morals charge and end up Miss World." |
