In worldly matters Gay was not fortunate. I saw her face and it was the face that had been hidden from me in dreams, a face very much like yours, Lucia. “FAIL!” she said. When anybody is natural, these days, we dub them queer. When you send for me I shall come back. The fragrance of dryer sheets lay upon her like the snow that now drifted peacefully outside. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. linked image back linked image back MADEMOISELLE AT ARMS Elizabeth Bailey © 2011 by Elizabeth Bailey All rights reserved.
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