Some day, perhaps, after she had written intellectual essays about
Politics and such things, she might write about Life. About Life
itself! And the Cosmos!
Her chin sank to rest upon her palm. How beautiful were those pink
roses in their leaf-green bowl--like a soft piece of music or a
gently flowing poem. Maybe Mrs. Brooks would have floral decorations
at her bridge-party. She hoped so--then she could write a really
satisfying kind of paragraph--flowers were always so inspiring.
Those pink petals were just about to fall. Yet, somehow, that made
them seem all the lovelier. She could almost write a poem about that
idea! Would Mr. Martin mind if, now and then, she worked in a little
verse or two? It would make Society reporting more interesting. For,
she had to admit, Society Life in Cherryvale wasn't thrilling. Just
lawn-festivals and club meetings and picnics at the Waterworks and
occasional afternoon card-parties where the older women wore their
Sunday silks and exchanged recipes and household gossip. If only
there was something interesting--just a little dash of "atmosphere.
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