Manchurian Books

Missy
liked those colours very much; then her eyes followed the beam of
light to where it spun a prism of fairy colours on the mirror above
the high-boy, and she liked that ecstatically. She liked, too, by
merely turning her head on the pillow, to glimpse, through the
parting of the curtains, the ocean of blue sky with its flying cloud
ships, so strange; and to hear the morning song of the birds and the
happy hum of insects, the music seeming almost to filter through the
lace curtains in a frescoed pattern which glided, alive, along the
golden roadway of sunshine. She even liked the monotonous metallic
rattle which betold that old Jeff was already at work with the lawn-
mower.
All this in a silent moment crammed to the full with vibrant
ecstasy; then Missy remembered, specifically, the Wedding drawing
every day nearer, and the new Pink Dress, and the glory to be hers
when she should strew flowers from a huge leghorn hat, and her
rapture brimmed over. Physically and spiritually unable to keep
still another second, she suddenly sat up.
"Oh, Poppylinda!" she whispered.


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