They do not live a riotous sex life themselves. A hive suggests cloister more than bordello. —The Queen Must Die: And Other Affairs of Bees and Men Chapter Seven I jumped every time I heard a siren. It might have been an ambulance off in the distance or a police chase on television—it didn’t matter. Part of me was always braced for T. Ray or Mr. Shoe Gaston to drive up and end my charmed life. We had been at August’s house eight whole days. I didn’t know how long black Mary could keep the curtain drawn. On Monday morning, July 13, I was walking back to the honey house after breakfast when I noticed a strange black Ford parked in the driveway. I lost my breath for a moment, till I remembered Zach was coming back to work today. It would be me and August and Zach. I’m not proud of it, but I resented the intrusion. He was not what I expected. I found him inside holding a honey drizzle like a microphone, singing, “I found my thrill on Blueberry Hill.” I watched unseen from the doorway, not making a sound, but when he launched into “Viva Las Vegas,”
What do You think about The Secret Life Of Bees (2014)?
