The Leaven Of The Pharisees
Copyright 2010 by Katie Hanrahan
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Clothes were strewn all over the bedroom, with shoes scattered across the floor, while Molly stood in the airless calm of the hurricane’s eye, packing a suitcase. “You’re not going,” Stan screamed at her, his tone getting louder in an attempt to coerce her into recognizing his authority.
The sweater that Stan had torn from the suitcase and flung across the
room was retrieved, folded and returned to the open case. Reticent
like her late father, unruffled by storm or tempest, Molly rolled up
a pair of stockings and tucked them into a corner of the bag,
ignoring her husband so completely that his face began to redden in
“I’ve got a business to run, damn it, and you’re not going when I’m up to my ass in work,” Stan continued with his one-sided harangue.