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Emily O’Brien smiled languidly at this statement. “Oh, I know what you mean. We do need to keep the area as private as we can.” Betty Ross sipped at her mocha and smiled imperceptibly. “If it wasn’t for these damn insects and bugs it would be paradise out here, you know?” Emily O’Brien said. “Well, they were here before we were, you know!” Emily O’Brien smiled at her neighbor and stared out the screened-in porch. She had ascertained from her husband, who worked with Stephen Ross at Lockheed Martin, that Betty Ross was part Cherokee Indian, which she had considered a romantic idea at the time, but now she wondered if the woman weren’t just a little too strange for her taste. She was about to light a cigarette when Betty Ross quickly interjected, “Oh, I wish you wouldn’t—please.” “Oh … what … you mean my cigarette?” “Yes—and thank you very much for not smoking,” Ross replied, smiling. O’Brien kept the cigarette between her second and third fingers but didn’t light it, instead crossing her legs and leaning towards her neighbor to lower her voice, as if someone would hear them. “Of course dear, I won’t smoke if it bothers you. Oh Betty, by the way, could you please let me in on your secret?”

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The Fine Line Issue 3  

The Fine Line presents its third compilation of art, fiction and poetry by contributors Francis Raven, Michael Young, Dorothee Lang, Raj Sha...

The Fine Line Issue 3  

The Fine Line presents its third compilation of art, fiction and poetry by contributors Francis Raven, Michael Young, Dorothee Lang, Raj Sha...

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