Romantic gestures


On Friday Napoleon said, ”You are such a cold cynic Illya. Leaving Marion, eh? She was interested, you know. Even if you could barely be polite to her.

Illya grumbled.

“I wonder what it would take for you to make just one gallant gesture. Say – give a poem? Maybe a rose?”

Illya growled.

“No matter. I’m hungry. Let’s go to that Italian place you like so much. I feel for a bottle of Valpolicella. You?”

“Fine,” Illya conceded and opened the door for Napoleon. “I drive.”

On Monday there was a card on Napoleon’s desk. It said: Read this poem.

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