She nodded her head, her black hair swaying. “They are. I see why you’re here.”She scooted just a little closer to me, glancing down at my book....“Oh, Jane Austin, I love her. We read her in English last year, and everyone hated it. All the girls were complaining there were no futas doing any screwing. So were the guys.”“Philistines,” I said, voice tight. “You had Mrs. Oberon for English.”Philippa nodded. She scooted just a smidge closer. Her sweet scent was starting to overpower the perfume of. My sisters resented the preferential treatment – real and imagined – given me as the youngest by my mother and as the lone boy by my chauvinistic father. I think they harbored a bigger resentment because I was the only one of the old man's children with enough backbone to forego the financial benefits and strike out for a life of my own instead of blindly following his wishes.I hadn't seen my siblings or my nieces or nephews in almost 10 years. When my parents were killed three years earlier,. More

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