This was in Tennessee. This was no night for the indulgence of dreamy musing. ” “Yes, but men;” said Ann Veronica, plunging; “don’t you want the love of men?” For some seconds they remained silent, both shocked by this question. It was a long walk she had to undertake, even if she had endured no previous fatigue, but feeble as she was, it was almost more than she could accomplish. I wanted something alive. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying.
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