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was. Or perhaps the Corfu doctor's diagnosis was inaccurate. |
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Whichever doctor was right, Peter feared the worst because he loved his aunt. Linda remembered when Uncle Abe had had a simple hernia and she had been terrified. She had been sure it was cancer, convinced that the doctor and Aunt Evelyn were lying to her so that she would not worry. Linda shook her head, more at herself than at Peter. |
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He had started to say something, checked it at her negative gesture, and then burst out, "But I can't drop it, Linda. Damn it all, whatever my citizenship I'm not a patient Englishman. I'm a brash Americanand I love you." |
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His voice had become so loud that Linda put a hand over his. "Yes, that's lovely, but don't tell the whole of Italy." |
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Peter was usually quick to see a joke, but this time he didn't laugh. "Maybe it's funny to you, but it's not to me. Don't you see where that leaves me? Am I going to have to sit around and hope that my aunt will drop dead so I can get at you?" |
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The words that should have sent Linda deeper into the dark of doubt lightened her spirits instead. It was so open, so innocent a statement of frustration, that she smiled. |
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"Don't you care at all?" he roared. |
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The bellow brought the dilatory Italian waiter scurrying across the floor. "Signori?" he asked anxiously. |
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Peter looked up at the waiter, his lips drawn |
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