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She looked at me. I wondered why she was looking at me and then I realized she was waiting for an answer.“Yes, thank you,” I said.She nodded and stood. “I have some things I need to check down at the cafeteria. No one will bother you in here.”She left, closing the door behind her.I opened up my book and laid it flat on the table. It opened straight to the right page because the pencil I’d been using had been left there when I slammed the book shut. I put the pencil on the table out of the way. It seemed hopeless.But was it wise to try to change history? What were the widerconsequences? There had to be some. Wouldn't a change that helped onegroup inevitably harm another? Every act, from the largest andsmallest, must surely carry with it unintended consequences. The onegood thing about doing nothing was that a person could call the results"fate" and think that they've removed responsibility from one's ownshoulders.But wasn't that POV just rationalization?Maybe, maybe not, but it. . the only problem was that Jenny's sweater was up and she was not wearing a bra. The boys were cupping the girl's swollen, nipple-peaked mounds eagerly, tweaking and teasing the nipples and causing the young girl to writhe and squirm in her seat.Marilyn could hardly believe her eyes, Peter was only eleven and so was his friend Seth and Jenny Phillips wasn't more than thirteen years old. She had no idea that k**s of that age did things like that. Then she gasped inwardly as her nephew leaned. We held hands while drinking and talking. Next thing I knew she was laying up against me in my arms, her back to my chest. Her hair smelled like French Vanilla, I knew the smell was her hair since the candles I lit were Candy Apple.4pmSyn was real tense after a long day at work; she deals with pre-school kids all day long. So I slowly started massaging her shoulders and lower back. Shortly she lay down on her stomach and asked me to raise her shirt so I could massage her back directly. I wasn't.
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