Thinking Things Through

Ten ter­mi­nal ter­mites twit­ter­ing tear­ful­ly in the tent.

Seri­ous­ly?” she said solip­sis­ti­cal­ly, seem­ing­ly speak­ing to the silent suite. “Ardent allit­er­a­tion absent any appro­pri­ate atmos­phere? Maybe my moth­er might have made a moni­tum to me before I mar­ried such a moppet.”

Rhon­da released the ream she was read­ing and reached around the rear of the radi­a­tor, retriev­ing the roll of Rhode Island quar­ters. Obvi­ous­ly, out­rage out­stripped oth­er, more overt­ly-obses­sive reac­tions. The ear­li­est he could even enter­tain entry into the event would be eleven days from now; enough time to engage him in earnest entreaties to end this extrav­a­gant escapade. Fail­ing that… she fal­tered, feel­ing the fin­ished firm­ness of the quar­ters in her fist. How she hat­ed hing­ing her hap­pi­ness on such hap­pen­ings. And vio­lence, in her view, was so very, very vexing.

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