But A Man Is Not Forgotten, As

Ye Are Blood Of My Blood, And Bone Of My Bone, I Give Ye My Body, That We Two Might Be One. I Give Ye My Spirit, 'til Our Life Shall Be Done.

A Hedgehog? And Just How Does A Hedgehog Make Love?" He Demanded. No, I Thought. I Won't. I Will Not. But I Did. "very Carefully," I Replied, Giggling Helplessly. So Now We Know Just How Old That One Is, I Thought.

There Are Things That I Canna Tell You, At Least Not Yet. And I'll Ask Nothing Of Ye That Ye Canna Give Me. But What I Would Ask Of Ye---when You Do Tell Me Something, Let It Be The Truth. And I'll Promise Ye The Same. We Have Nothing Now Between Us, Save---respect, Perhaps. And I Think That Respect Has Maybe Room For Secrets, But Not For Lies. Do Ye Agree?

Lying On The Floor, With The Carved Panels Of The Ceiling Flickering Dimly Above, I Found Myself Thinking That I Had Always Heretofore Assumed That The Tendency Of Eigh­teenth-century Ladies To Swoon Was Due To Tight Stays; Now I Rather Thought It Might Be Due To The Idiocy Of Eighteenth-century Men.

Why D'ye Talk To Yourself?' 'it Assures Me Of A Good Listener.