From the Kierkegaard Room he lopingly careened through a red-carpeted hallway that had previously vouchsafed him a comfort station but this morning seemed all business, no M or W in sight, just salons and boutiques and the Ingmar Bergman Cinema.
They did a double switch after the eighth so that Jones could bat second in the ninth.
In my meeting with Dahlia, I found myself having a private countertransference thought which I certainly did not articulate to her.
Here three aspiring young seamstresses—diplomas in dressmaking from the People’s College of Zimbabwe hung on the wall—bicker and scowl at each other.
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