He unlocked himself from her embrace. “Call me Cathy, John. Brown engaged in the usual browbeating and complaining he reserved for sections who came in late and soloists who left tempo behind like the leftovers of a Sunday picnic. She did not remember how many seasons it took before she relented, how much time before she decided to toy with his affections. He was now a sophomore at Lincoln, Lucy a Junior, and Shari a Senior. “Sure, are you sure you’re okay?” He exited off the highway onto a quiet road and pulled over.
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