Boots and Rallies
Just about all my attention was seized in this cluster headache of “right” and “wrong,” but not so much that I did not spy out of the corner of my eye something absolutely queer. Like fickle goblins fitted in parkas stealing across the lawn by the light of the moon, I spotted a pair of girls outside Butterfield holding a large rectangle of familiar proportions and walking at an unusually brisk pace.


