Catastrophe. Social disaster. Already noon and not enough dancers, Kitty told the pool boys.
The pool boys were piecing together a parquet dance floor on her back lawn. They said, We can dance.
I’m sure you can, dear, Kitty said. She could just picture it: scandal. Maybe she’d take up their offer. God knew her husband and the other patricians of Oyster Cove were too dignified to kick up their heels.
Continue reading “The Last Fourth of July by Scott Pomfret”
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