Mother and Dr. Mac are such friends. She actually flirts with him, in her Dresden China way, and he growls. But he likes it. I am sure he is half in love with her already—he couldn't very well help being.
Bill's here—his hand on my shoulder, smelling nicely of damp, new earth!
"Go away!"
"Why?"
"I'm writing!"
"So I see—but what, little wife?"
"The end of a story."
And under his eyes, Diary, I have turned back your pages and drawn a thick, black line through that pitiful entry made on my wedding day—drawn a thicker, blacker line through that sombre little word "Finis."
"Kiss me, William Denton!"
And now, with his kiss on my lips, I have turned back to what I have just written and am writing, letter by letter, with a steady hand and a high heart, between laughter and tears, two firm, exultant words: