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"I don't like the sound of things at all, Steve. That wild-sonofabitch, Caesar... the brute's gone too far attacking Aaron Newell's daughter! God knows, any woman in the valley would have been horrible enough, but Lydia Newell! Damnit, what I've been trying to avoid all along may be well out of control now!" You mean, a hunting posse?" Steve pressed, butting his cigarette."I mean a bunch of drunken wild-men swarming over the hills and shooting at everything that moves!" Mark bitterly snapped, remembering the death of his own father... !The bond of intimacy so fervidly born between Jean and Carol only hours before had brought a new dimension to their relationship that Jean neither understood, nor intended to question. She was solely contented that it existed. A warm smile, or an affectionate touch from Carol was sufficient to keep her new exciting emotions simmering without blatantly racing into a sensual consummation. That would simply happen at precisely the proper moment, she felt. It was more likely to be his mother than his father, but whoever it was was early, he hadn’t been expecting either for another hour.He frowned as heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. That wasn’t his mother, and his father would normally have gone into the lounge first, and straight to the liquor cabinet. What was he doing coming up stairs?There was no time to waste. He quickly slipped his feet into some sandals and sat down at his desk, where his revision homework was open and waiting for him. He was a little worried now. Why was his father coming upstairs? He didn’t think he’d done anything wrong. He pretended to work. Maybe his father just needed the bathroom. His door opened and Peter tensed, his heart suddenly racing.“Have you still got your air pistol?” Robbie asked his grandson from the bedroom door.Peter looked up from his homework in surprise. “Oh, hi Granddad. Yes. I think it’s in the loft.” He shrugged, his heart rapidly slowing as he discovered it wasn’t his father after.
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I put down the controller as she sat down next to me on the edge of my bed. She looked so good. She had regained some of her tan while in Florida. “Hi, there,” she said to me. “You haven’t said much since I got back from vacation. You doing okay?” My mom was still concerned about my moods. I was still off the meds, and we both hoped that I would never have to go back on them. However, my mom knew how important routine was to me, and now our routine had been altered. She also knew that I was likely to experience a separation anxiety, and she wanted to be watchful for that. “I’m fine. How was your vacation. Ready to move to Florida?” The winter had been very cold here at home. “I think we’ll try it in summer before deciding if we want to move there,” she said, laughing. She bent over and kissed my forehead, then got up to go to her room. I got up and followed her. The aroma of her perfume trailed her. When she got to her bedroom, she kicked off her shoes and pulled her sweater over her.

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