A steaming cup of tea, a good book and a sunny window are the best of pleasures. Vesta cradled her cup and settled into the overstuffed chair in the shared den of the rooming house. She loved George Eliot and sat to reread Daniel Deronda. Again.
She’d gotten her gorgeous teal hard-covered art deco copy on a return visit to Paris. Jean had slipped away from his busy life to spend a couple of languid afternoons with Vesta. Her mind revisited those days while Daniel Deronda waited. She skipped ahead some decades to her recent racy letter from Jean; he had asked for a photograph. Was he getting sentimental? A week had passed and she had not written. She formed an imagined reply, then another and another. Hmmph. Perhaps a photograph was in order, and he could make of it what he would, without any accompanying letter at all.