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a born organizer and administrator. I think I might go into garbage disposal or . . ." |
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Peter was staring at her with a kind of glaze over his eyes, and Linda poked him gently in the ribs. |
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"Or maybe TV," she said provocatively. "I wonder how I'd do on the production side. I guess I'd have a crack in the door to sneak in, since I have a relative involved." |
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"Donald!" Peter snarled, snapping back to life. "I forgot about him. What the hell were you two up to on the beach?" |
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"We were congratulating each other," Linda said blandly. "Donald told me he wants to marry a girl called Diane, and I told him I wanted to marry you." |
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"He was using you," Peter said angrily. |
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Linda laughed. "No more than I was using him. Even-Steven, Peter." |
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He still looked angry when he opened his mouth, but what came out was not another furious tirade, but a hearty laugh. Then, shocked by the sound, he sobered. "You certainly are a born administrator," he remarked. "You've administered a good dose of sense to me. It's all right, darling. You don't have to make any more horrid confessions. Aunt Em's dead, and I've accepted it." |
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"She isn't dead, Peter," Linda said softly, "only the bad part. All the good of her is alive in your memory and the general's and Mrs. Sotheby'seven in mine. I knew her just enough to want to know more." |
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