” “It might become one,” he answered. ” He said curiously. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. ‘Nothing of the sort,’ argued Gerald. Fruit trees had been brought all the way from India so their product could be laden on the wedding table, fruits with exotic shapes and haunting flavors ended the meal, cleansing the palate. Whatever he wrote he was: he became this or that character, he suffered or prospered equally. A stack of chimneys, on the house above them, had yielded to the storm, and descended in a shower of bricks and stones.
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