The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. Swiftly she ran her hands over the carvings, trying to find the lever to the secret panel again. He began to talk again in quick undertones that she could not clearly hear. And I’ve read, and thought, and guessed, and looked—until MY innocence—it’s smirched. I know he is dead. Even if you pretend sometimes to be without sense. Keep his arms down. ’ Baring his teeth in a smile of triumph that was every bit an animal snarl, and leaping up onto the seat of the pew he was in, he jumped hazardously to the next.
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