Beryl is facing a most fascinating dilemma!

Shhhhhhh!

Her eyes twinkle.

For the presence of my spirit, which errs in its lustful excitement, her flames flicker. She thinks it some strange wind seeping through the walls, some hobgoblin silence stirring in the hollow of her well-kept room.

It's only me.

My ally, the Archangel, would have circled the room twice on spotting her. At first glance, twenty-three. Still fresh. At second glance, no more than twenty-nine. Still lush.

Thirty-nine!

Still much a prize.

Still not cursed with her mother's form and fullness.

Still a dreamer.

Still sparking envy in women who think her to have it all. "Blessed!" Some say.

And, oooh-mama-ma-meah!

Still evoking flattering sentiments from wild men who, not yet discerning youth's vanity, plow battered ball-fields in search of youth's virility.

(Few find it!)

Yes. There are a few!

But Beryl, the imported Cleopatra of Texas, is facing a most fascinating dilemma.

I must not help her!

I doubt you'd be able. But if you feel you must, whisper the dilemma in my ear. We'll go from there! NEXT