face! How I could improve it, dress it, decorate it to attune with your soul!”
Angie barely listened. She was thinking, When he is once my husband nothing shall part us except jury duty. But, you know how it is, sometimes, in the midst of one’s wildest yearning, when all one’s being is being wafted heavenwards, as on the wings of doves, something, a mere flea, perhaps, or a relapse of hay fever will suddenly bite you on the shoulder. What was it he had said? A word came back, like a cat left behind when you go to the country . . . a word . . . “decorate” . . . ’twas full of sinister meaning.
“What are you?” she demanded. “In heaven’s name, speak! Let me know the worst before I phone for the minister for first aid. Decorate? Did you say decorate? Speak, before we are harnessed for life!”
The being smiled. “Why yes,” said he. “Of course. Why not? I am an Interior Decorator!”
“Good heavens! And I thought you were a man!”
Angela Bish had fainted all over the wash stand. . . .
