She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer. My wife—killed me. “Have you ever kissed a guy before?” She rolled the tissue into a ball in her lap and stared at it. The gale had become a hurricane: that hurricane was the most terrible that ever laid waste our city. The turning of the key startled her, but she did not see how she could make an objection. "I love you like a son, and will follow you like a dog. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. .
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