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Show 24, Jeffries, Islamorada "Look in on me, will you?" she pleaded cheerfully. "You know my major subject was arithmetic and I don't know the first thing about Spanish." Arithmetic. Very well. Better he should have forfeited the Henry James honors seminar as his resource teacher had advised, Monday-morning quarterbacking back over his college years, and elected the Teaching of Reading; that was mostly how it went these days, bat - cat - fat - rat. . . Peering in that door that was 'No longer a door but a-jar,' as some individuals used to joke back when there was still some feeling for the language, he saw that her class had things well under control. There were the eight remaining brains, in this foreign language unit, and they seemed to have convinced her that Spanish was simply a matter of adding the letter 0 to the basic English nouns and verbs. He watched her drilling them, the bright and contributing young faces smiling, "Book-o. . .desk-o. . ." "Bluefield girl," he strode in and whispered to her, "I should get you barefoot, pregnant-" "Oh get me in the kitchen and in our little dining nook, and then, if you have anything left," she giggled, "wouldn't it be kinky to get me in Rana's room?" |
