Sublime

Grace Macaulay, then: seventeen, small and plump, with skin that went brown by the end of May. Her hair was black and oily, and had the hot consoling scent of an animal in summer. She disliked books, and was by nature a thief if she found a thing to be beautiful, but not hers. She didn’t know she couldn’t sing. She was inclined to be cross.

grok

bouclé

Here was a shelf of nothing but Harry Potter, here, my worn copies of the Narnia books, there, my beloved Little House books (Santa Claus brought me one volume each Christmas for nine years). The Elizabeth Enright and Edward Eager books I’d read so many times. Mary Stoltz, who didn’t get the attention she deserved. Streatfield, Barrie, Canfield, Co

grok,”

bucolic

Augean

verdant,