” 189 “Are you feeling okay?” She could feel a parade of ants dotting her skin. You know what's what. Fear nothing. The passion of pent-up speech compelled action of some sort. Probably his first serious bout with John Barleycorn. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. She receded into the entryway, opening her palm and gesturing as if there were an imaginary red carpet rolled out for visitors.
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