Dialogue - The Locket :: Dialogue Conversation Essays

Dialogue - The Locket At midnight, capital of Minnesota went outside and sat on the judicature on the old, plank porch. in spite of bundling himself in a heavy blanket, he shivered in the cold. The easterly sky before him was dotted with stars, scintillating above the quiet dispense of desert. A few lonely clouds were drifting by. Patricia timidly opened the introduction hesitant to disrupt capital of Minnesotas solitude. As he glanced up at Patricia, she could see the melancholy in his eyes. What you said today at the funeral was beautiful, she murmured. capital of Minnesota smiled sadly. I just wanted to tell you that. Good night. Paul extended his hand. Would you join me? Patricia took his hand and sat down on the bench next to him. Paul wrapped the blanket around her small shoulders. She sour to look at him. I suppose that I have never properly thanked you for saving my life. I am sorry for that. I was not sure then that I wished it saved. He thought about her words. What ke eps you with him? he asked. It took a long time for her to answer. It is my lot. Paul frowned. Thats not a lot of an answer. No, she replied, but maybe thats all there is. Have you considered return to Ireland? It is not a possibility. But if it were? No good comes from considering things that cannot be. Patricia was firm. Paul considered this a moment before speaking. I suppose youre right. Where about in Ireland are you from anyway? I came from Cork. You do not carry very ofttimes of a brogue. I have worked hard to eliminate my brogue. Jack mocks me for it, and there are those in this country who hate me for it. It is unfortunate, Paul said. I judge that it sounds beautiful. Her gratitude and pleasure showed in her eyes. Paul glanced downward and noticed her petite fingers nervously playing with a locket that hung around her neck. The locket was cast in the shape of a four-leaf clover. It was unique, and she wore it religiouslyit was almost as if she had been born with the n ecklace around her neck. It was as much a part of her as her deep auburn hair and common land eyes. I have heard it said of Cork, that the sky does not rain, it weeps, Paul continued. It is a beautiful, tragic land, Patricia replied.