Yours eternally,
Christiansen-Knight.
“What’s poetic license?” she asked Wally.
“Poetic license? Why—it’s some kind of license poets get, I suppose.”
“Like a dog license, or a chauffeur’s?”
“Well, something like that. Why?”
“Oh, nothing.”
“What’s the book?”
“‘Idylls of the King.’”
“Good?”