I Love You, Miss Irvine

I Love You, Miss IrvineBrigden Cole had a rough problem. He pondered it, hunched over his desk, his fingers chasing each other through his hair, his shoulders moving irritably against the stretch of his jacket. Miss Irvine's light voice, her enunciation very precise, made a kind of soothing background for his thoughts. Miss Irvine was reading Keats' The Eve of St. Agnes to the class.Brigden's problem was whether to unload his perfectly good 1950 Buick sedan and put himself in debt for a '56 Olds...