“Your thighs are appletrees. Your knees are a southern breeze.”

“Your thighs are apple trees. Your knees are the southern breeze.”

“I hit your thigh!”“Oh, please. A man doesn’t need that long to recover from a knee to the thigh.”

“He gave a dark chuckle. “But you’re not, so you had absolutely no qualms about kneeing me in the groin, right?”“I hit your thigh!”“Oh, please. A man doesn’t need that long to recover from a knee to the thigh,” he replied, his voice full of skepticism.”

“The wind held the door open for me, and I appreciated it. Who knew the breeze was such a southern gentleman?”

“The sky was a cold iron-grey, like the underside of a shield. A sharp breeze lifted the hems of skirts and rattled the leaves on the immature trees; a spiteful, chill wind that sought out your weakest places, the nape of your neck and your knees, and which denied you the comfort of dreaming, of retreating a little from reality.”