‘I don’t think so.’ ‘Hmmm,’ I hummed. ‘Ashley, will you marry me?’ I smiled. ‘Jeff, will you marry me?’ We both laughed and I buried...my head in his chest. ‘So, how do we do this?’ I asked. ‘Dinner at my house. What’s your poison?’ ‘Ohhh, I loved Sam’s chili. Can you make that?’ He smiled. ‘We can make that. Do you have any plans for tomorrow?’ ‘No, but what’s wrong with tonight? I can’t wait. The anticipation is making my nerves raw.’ I realized I was bouncing. ‘The beans have to soak a long. There were many other writers and men of letters present at the gathering. Among them I took a liking to a small, pleasant fellow, by the name of John Keats. He at least was one poet who did not display those exaggerated emotional feelings of the like of Shelly, Wordsworth or Coleridge. In fact Keats was from a class of society more like my own, whereas the former were from much higher strata. Although Keats' poetry is a bit too cerebral for my taste I found him an engaging and personable. More

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