I Thought You Couldn't Make It Here

He Stepped Back With Exaggerated Courtesy. But When I Walked Past Him, He Swatted My Rump. Hard Enough To Sting. “you Need To Be More Careful,” He Growled. “keep Interfering In My Business And You Might Get Hurt.” I Said Sweetly As I Continued To Jesse's Room, “the Last Man Who Swatted Me Like That Is Rotting In His Grave.” “i Have No Doubt About It.” His Voice Was More Satisfied Then Contrite.

Sometimes I Think I Live More Closely To The Past Than The Present.

C’est Moi, C’est Moi,’tis I,' I Told Him. It Seemed Appropriately Melodramatic, Though I Didn’t Know If He’d Catch The Reference. I Shouldn’t Have Worried. Unexpectedly, He Laughed. “trust You To Quote Lancelot Rather Than Guinevere.

Being A Martyr Is Highly Overrated.

I Thought You Couldn't Make It Here Until Morning," I Said. "i Hurried.