"Swinburne? Are you sure?" Abigail hid her gin.
"Yes that's the one," Judith agreed.
Stuck in her head, Abigail quoted under her breath the sacrilegious and controversial poet known to be an alcoholic,
She sighed. "I will be back shortly." Instead of going up the stairs knowing no book was to be found in her sister's room, Abigail went through the kitchen grabbing an apple, and headed to the stable. She would pet her horse, her favorite Christmas present ever. He would be better company than her sister.
"Really?" Kirk grinned like a boy on Christmas morning. Then he laughed from somewhere deep inside.
Then he looked at her with an endearment she had never known, no hint of a boy left, only a man. It sent delicious shivers inside her. Pulling her close, he kissed her. It was nothing like any kiss she'd ever known.
(In other words, only bitter, dying people should drink.)