"Though day, the crickets called in the grass; my mother's singing rose from the camp. I lifted my arms; I could not help it. The breeze itself was warm; the islands soft with moss; the loons calling melancholy in forgotten bays; and Life in all its operations seemed unspeakably generous."
-M.T. Anderson, The Pox Party -Hannah
The Bane by Keary Taylor "She looks like death," I whispered as I followed him out into the light. "What is happening to her?" -Martha