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Mary..ye’re an awfy wummin…
Those have given me the first giggles of the day!
The mega talented brothers Cunningham give it laldy..
The Moving Finger by Edith Wharton
Opening Paragraphs.
The news of Mrs. Grancy’s death came to me with the shock of an immense blunder—one of fate’s most irretrievable acts of vandalism. It was as though all sorts of renovating forces had been checked by the clogging of that one wheel. Not that Mrs. Grancy contributed any perceptible momentum to the social machine: her unique distinction was that of filling to perfection her special place in the world. So many people are like badly composed statues, overlapping their niches at one point and leaving them vacant at another. Mrs. Grancy’s niche was her husband’s life; and if it be argued that the space was not large enough for its vacancy to leave a very big gap, I can only say that, at the resort. such dimensions must be determined by finer instruments than any ready-made standard of utility. Ralph Grancy’s was, in short, a kind of disembodied usefulness: one of those constructive influences that, instead of crystallising into definite forms, remain as it were a medium for the development of clear thinking and fine feeling. He faithfully irrigated his own dusty patch of life, and the fruitful moisture stole far beyond his boundaries. If, to carry on the metaphor, Grancy’s life was a sedulously cultivated enclosure, his wife was the flower he had planted in its midst—the embowering tree, rather, which gave him rest and shade at its foot and the wind of dreams in its upper branches.
We had all—his small but devoted band of followers—known a moment when it seemed likely that Grancy would fail us. We had watched him pitted against one stupid obstacle after another—illhealth, poverty, misunderstanding, and, worst of all for a man of his texture, his first wife’s soft insidious egotism. We had seen him sinking under the leaden embrace of her affection like a swimmer in a drowning clutch; but just as we despaired he had always come to the surface again, blinded, panting, but striking out fiercely for the shore. When at last her death released him it became a question as to how much of the man she had carried with her. Left alone, he revealed numb withered patches, like a tree from which a parasite has been stripped. But gradually he began to put out new leaves; and when he met the lady who was to become his second wife—his one real wife, as his friends reckoned—the whole man burst into flower.
The second Mrs. Grancy was past thirty when he married her, and it was clear that she had harvested that crop of middle joy which is rooted in young despair. But if she had lost the surface of eighteen she had kept its inner light; if her cheek lacked the gloss of immaturity her eyes were young with the stored youth of half a lifetime. Grancy had first known her somewhere in the East—I believe she was the sister of one of our consuls out there—and when he brought her home to New York she came among us as a stranger. The idea of Grancy’s remarriage had been a shock to us all. After one such calcining most men would have kept out of the fire; but we agreed that he was predestined to sentimental blunders, and we awaited with resignation the embodiment of his latest mistake. Then Mrs. Grancy came—and we understood. She was the most beautiful and the most complete of explanations. We shuffled our defeated omniscience out of sight, and gave it hasty burial under a prodigality of welcome. For the first time in years we had Grancy off our minds. “He’ll do something great now!” the least sanguine of us prophesied; and our sentimentalist emended: “He has done it—in marrying her!”
@stephen1 wrote:
I’ve stocked up on alcohol, so I will be sorted tonight,
You could put that money toward the dentist. Ok, that probably isn’t much help, as booze is cheaper than the dentist. Extacy might be another bet. You will feel like hugging everyone in sight, though, so better get a good mouth wash before you take it. I heard somewhere that extacy was invented by the Merck company in the 1920’s. Can you say kicking themselves they don’t have the patent now? :lol: Alternatively, you could try ecstasy, the natural kind. Get high on life. Reach a state of enlightenment through orgasm…although three weeks of that might be a bit difficult; depending on your man of course. :wink:
I hope you get it sorted soon, no matter your method.
Stephen1
Three weeks of sustained orgasm, you say? Worth having ones teeth kicked in for.
Sunneeeeeee..c’mere your footie team’s rubbish!
*Stands back and waits for Sunny to get a good run up with her docs for a kick in the Esme gnashers!*You could always try my failsafe method..
An..um..inventive cook!
Are you a country or city person?
Guilty!!!!
Do you find por/nography arousing?
I’ll consult Stanley Unwin and get back to ya..
