And the pebbles fight each other as rocks/And my father bends among them/Two hands outstretching up to me/Not that I can hear.

She had expressed herself, as women will, in a smug broadside of pastel shades. Nothing clashed because nothing had the strength to clash; everything murmured of safety among the hues; all was refinement.

That’s enough!” Holly scrambled out of her seat, too. “My three-year-old behaves better than all of you.” She looked down at LJ, who was trying to stuff a fry up his nostril. “And that’s not...