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Her soft brown eyes, inherited from Larry, warmed an already pretty face. Annabel, I cannot believe it. E. I presume that you have been living alone?” She sighed gently. As you know my seed is infertile with all women, they are no more than cattle, but it was not so with my Rhea. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. It was a gracious gesture, she thought, as he trudged to the Beck’s humble doorstep in his stiff blue polyester uniform. “You are a dear,” she exclaimed affectionately.
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