Six sentences for Sunday, March 9th:
You were Alfa, I was Whiskey. Your Watson, your Moneypenney, I was.
You appeared to me in a dream the other day, unchanged, the very picture of a femme fatale. You said, •••• • •—•• •—•• ———, •—— •••• •• ••• —•— • —•——, as if you’d never left. It seemed to take forever for your message to come through, but when it was complete, I just sat there, my pencil poised above the paper, unmoving. Was it that I couldn’t decipher the code, or that I didn’t want to?