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smile. His studiously blank expression did not change, and she sighed, wishing she could read his mind at will. At least he acted cordial even if he seldom smiled. Neither mentioned that morning in the wash. |
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He had changed from his usual T-shirt and jeans into dark trousers and a pale blue shirt whose top buttons were open enough to reveal some of the solid chest that had been so comforting two nights before. Breaking the silence, he said, "We'll be going over the Cajon Pass soon, then bypassing San Bernardino. L.A.'s about an hour beyond that." |
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A trip of only an hour! By wagon train, it would take days by the same route that Arlen had described in detail to her several weeksand many decadesearlier. This time in which she found herself was full of miraculous surprises. |
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"How long have you lived in . . . L.A., Mike?" She hesitated over the initials that she assumed stood for the town of Los Angeles. |
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"About fifteen years. I came out here for collegeUCLAand stayed, thanks to the scheming of a relative." |
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He grinned, so Abby knew that the scheming he spoke of did not vex him. He had used more initials. People in this time must consider themselves too busy to speak out full words, she thought. She did not ask what UCLA stood for; he had spoken as though everyone would know. She said lightly instead, "And what evil plan was that?" |
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"My great-aunt Myra was a cunning old soul," |
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