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CHAPTER EIGHT (c)
Sonia laughed in spite of herself, but she was not fooled. Under Bicky’s shiny veneer there lurked the soul of a survivor, one who made no pretense of not taking anyone with him.
“There’s got to be a way for the rich to keep on being rich and the rest of the planet to be comfortable. Not everyone longs for world domination, you know,” Sonia said.
Bicky watched the sprinkler throw tiny droplets in wide, circular arcs. The street light lent his face a preternatural glow. He shook his head and sighed, a deep heaving sigh to indicate that nothing that came before and certainly nothing that will ever come after carried quite as much weight.
“If I could do something, I would. But it’s beyond my frail powers,” Bicky said.
Sonia laughed and started the car. “Frail is not an adjective I’d use to describe you.”
Bicky stood motionless, arms locked on the door, looking like an old, weary man. His fuzzy gaze fell on Sonia’s belly and after a few moments the spark returned.
“Bring me the report in the morning, please. And don’t say anything to your husband. A little knowledge can be life threatening in certain situations. He doesn’t need that kind of information coloring his field work.” Bicky’s vacant stare signaled the end of the conversation. .
Sonia nodded. A tight, pinched smile graced Bicky’s lips. He banged twice on the car door, dismissing her. Sonia pulled out of the driveway and didn’t look back.
to be continued. . .
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