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Updated: July 10, 2025
He likes to play pinochle at night, he says, next to the sitting-room fire. He tried to learn me the rules of the game the other night in the poppy-room. It's easy. His first wife was death on flowers. She used to train roses over their back fence. He loved to see her there. He wants me to like to grow them.
"Kess," she said, leaning forward, with tears popping out in her eyes, "I.W. Goldstone has asked me to marry him." He laid down his roll in the act of buttering it, gazing across at her with his knife upright in his hand. "Huh?" "Night before last, Kess, in the poppy-room at Shalif's." "Are you crazy?" "It's the God's truth, Kess.
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