Dialogue - The Locket :: Dialogue Conversation Essays

Dialogue - The Locket At midnight, capital of Minnesota went outside and sit on the bench on the old, plank porch. Despite bundling himself in a heavy blanket, he shivered in the cold. The eastern sky in the lead him was dotted with stars, scintillating above the quiet spread of desert. A hardly a(prenominal) lonely clouds were drifting by. Patricia timidly opened the door hesitant to separate Pauls solitude. As he glanced up at Patricia, she could watch out the melancholy in his eyes. What you said today at the funeral was beautiful, she murmured. Paul smiled sadly. I just wanted to tell you that. Good night. Paul extended his hand. Would you cooperate me? Patricia took his hand and sat down on the bench next to him. Paul wrapped the blanket around her small shoulders. She turned to look at him. I suppose that I clear never properly thanked you for manner of speaking my life. I am sorry for that. I was not sure so that I wished it saved. He thought about her words. What keep s you with him? he asked. It took a foresighted time for her to answer. It is my lot. Paul frowned. Thats not much of an answer. No, she replied, but possibly thats all there is. Have you considered returning 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 in the lead speaking. I suppose youre right. Where about in Ireland are you from anyway? I came from Cork. You do not carry much 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 think 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 close to as if she had been born wit h the necklace around her neck. It was as much a pct of her as her deep auburn hair and green 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.