David Courtlaw. ‘One does not blow off the head of a man with whom one is in love, en effet. The effort to maintain her self-control was almost superhuman. He kissed her cheek. She took a shower after a particularly harsh volleyball debacle only to find that her locker had been picked and her outfit of the day, gray sweatpants and a shapeless pink sweater, were gone. Jackson, mean time, produced a pocket-book; and, after deliberately sharpening the point of a pencil, began to write on a blank leaf. “I suppose, Vee, you don’t see much of those Widgetts now?” “I go in and talk to Constance sometimes.
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