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His dark broavy hair was perfectly rakish, and his sleaht, he wore slim dark pants and a sleeveless shirt that showed off his well-toned ars that stained his skin

"Hey, Gunnar" We exchanged cheek kisses I cursed when another booold stars in the air

I s off"

"Good thing you’re getting into the spirit," he said with a grin "Happy War Night"

"Happy War Night, sed, stretching out his aret a closer vie Orleans was a city of traditions, and War Night had its own: the long parade, the fireworks, the spiked punch we siredients depended on as available And since the beginning, when there was nothing buta living memorial of those of us who’d survived

The intricate scene on Gunnar’s left ar a purple flag bearing four gold fleurs-de-lis--the official postwar flag of New Orleans The other ars near Talisheek in St Tammany Parish, which memorialized one of the deadliest battles of the war, and the spot where thousands of Paras had entered our world

The realis"

"Just trying to do War Night proud And Aunt Reenie"

"God bless her," I said of Gunnar’s late and laht, rich as Croesus, and, according to Gunnar’s reed

"Let’s get the party started," I said "You want so to drink?"

"Always the hostess I don’t suppose there’s any tea?"

"I think there’s a little bit left," I said, opening the door and gesturing him in