Sublime

Willa’s arm shoots out, pointing behind me. “Back of the bus, dickhead. Who’s your mama? I’d like to call her and ask how she raised you so I can file it away under what not to do.”

Lydgate thought that after all his wild mistakes and absurd credulity, he had found perfect womanhood – felt as if already breathed upon by exquisite wedded affection such as would be bestowed by an accomplished creature who venerated his high musings and momentous labours and would never interfere with them; who would create order in the home and