For your reading pleasure, Tempest presents yet another exquisite example of romantic narrative…

Antediluvian Sunrise
by Becky Cholmondeley

   No; Peason Lincoln, Student Nurse, was not pleased. Not at all! Neither the rhythmic strumming of Sydney’s guitar nor the secret alcove they had both come to know so well impressed her, and it was all because he wasn’t there. Intellectually, she realized that Long Gordon, the tawdry one person left who could help her, had a full life in which he was seeking a new life as a Foreign Legionnaire, and he could not be expected to hold any consideration for the pleasure of one inchoate, antediluvian girl. Intellectually, she knew this. And yet…
   Truly, it had been a most chelonian day when the best salon gossip had brought him to her attention.
   It was then that a sudden clatter of hooves shattered her composure into a million amoral pieces! She somehow knew that her heart had been right all along. Surely it could not be — but it was! At the door, the looming and masculine face she had come to know so well! “I worship you,” he stammered in his curiously endearing fashion while it dawned on her that her days of loneliness were over. “I need you, my angel — my porcelain angel!”
   At that moment as he slid the little ring onto her finger, she knew that life without him was unthinkable, if not ultramarine. Wthout him, could she ever have made a mental note to call Betty later and tell her all about it?

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