A LL RIGHT, so you don't like my poetry." I recrossed my legs. My left foot was going to sleep. "Well, I didn't say that. I just don't understand it." Rosha sat plumply on the couch, sedate, her hands relaxed palm-up in her lap, like the girl in the corny print I'd seen somewhere called Age of Innocence.
Fernelius, Eleanor M.
"Morning, Noon and Night Overture,"
Sketch: Vol. 31
, Article 9.
Available at: http://lib.dr.iastate.edu/sketch/vol31/iss3/9