of “understanding”) that remain untried.
This is a queer neck of the woods, both familiar and alien.
Jay looked at the sunlight coruscating on the ivy jumbled at the foot of the live-oak, just getting a grip. “This is me,” he said. “I wrote that.” He added, “Jay, what is the least that you hope for? How little will do?”
Pleased with the questions, he got up from his chair and went out the back door, slamming it a little. [to express exuberance.] He walked back to the barn, where he proposed to make a list of all the tools he could find, getting their names very accurately. He would memorize the list. He would learn to call a spade a spade. Jay giggled, [at this.]
In an effort to escape his clotted, adverbial thoughts Jay […]
(Copyright 2018 James Mansfield Nichols. All rights reserved.)