Being a Svengali is a thankless, albeit eminently satisfying pastime.
Marilyn just pulled back into the driveway after leaving with the kids, so I figured that they must have forgotten something. I watched Ivy come tiptoeing chess-piece like, stepping onto surviving grass patches towards the house. Being a “Holmesian” genius, I surmised that she was returning for forgotten footwear. As she stepped from the glaring sunshine into the comparative darkness of the place we keep her captive and (I) instruct her in proper, ladylike behavior, etc., she was blinking like... Sign in to see full entry.