’ ‘Whose fault is that?’ Tom snapped, his eyes flashing with anger. Apparently she’d touched a nerve. He was starting to yell. ‘Christ, all ...ou do when I am home is carp about my traveling. How the hell am I supposed to get turned on when you’re on my case all the time?’ ‘Tom, that’s not true,’ Mary replied, hurt by his sharp retort. ‘I think we need to spend time working on our relationship.’ ‘Jesus Christ!’ Tom said. ‘You been reading that women’s lib crap, or what? I bust my ass, spend weeks. His prosperous father was the owner of several large farms. His name was Philip, and he had cultivated a drooping blonde mustache in the style of George Armstrong Custer."Seems odd that there's no local celebration of the Fourth," said Caroline, her new baby soundly sleeping in a net-covered basket while her two older children romped around, chasing a noisy flock of guinea hens with the help of an old hound."In the city there are parades and illuminations and all sorts of things going on. Ought. More

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