Sep 1967 • Vol. XXIX No. 4 FictionSeptember 1, 1967 |

One Evening

While they were talking Larry leaned his bike against the sooty sycamore tree in the street outside her door. Daylight was leaving the sky. Soon he'd have to go home. He had reached out to grasp the handle bars when the streetlamps went on. Startled, he looked up as around them pale light fell like rain. But they, under the dome of leaves, were sheltered from its downpour. A new magic came into their encounter. It was harder than ever to part from her. Overhead, the dusty, toughened leaves of summer appeared thin and silky, as in springtime. If only it was spring and he need not be afraid that they'd be separated when the long school holiday came to an end. To be nearer to her, he bent forward and rested his elbow on the saddle of the bike, but the springs shifted and, if he had not shot out a hand and steadied himself against the tree, he'd have been sent spinning. Eileen tittered. Furious, Larry straightened up and adjusted the saddle before placing his elbow on it onc

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A Wet Day

By Mary Lavin

While they were talking Larry leaned his bike against the sooty sycamore tree in the street outside her door. Daylight was leaving the sky. Soon he'd have to go home. […]

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