Christmas Cottage

Christmas Cottagealmost heavenA Peaceful Retreat
failure. She struck my face -- as I rather expected she might in her recent character -- and I cuffed her in return such an instant smiling square one, to her whole surprise, that she whooped and lost all poise: wet her uniform, and went slack when I hugged her soft again.
"Really, old man," Stoker complained. "My wife, you know. What's come over you?"
Intoned my mother: "A-plus!"
"I've been wrong about everything!" I declared happily. "Never mind! Is Leonid all right?" Before anyone could answer I kissed whimpering Anastasia again -- she was quite glasseyed now and limp -- and might even have mounted her, so full I was of yen and new plans for her passage. But her menses were on her, my buckly nose reported, and pressed, so I forwent lust for exposition. Leonid's drink, Stoker said, was a multipurpose eradicator used by spies in the falsification of credentials and the elimination of either their enemies or themselves, as the case should warrant. It had been pumped out of him in time, and except for a headache, and the delusion that Anastasia