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cubic for bathrooms.
I had no time to ponder this. When we had turned into the Raffles' side
tunnel a few minutes earlier, my Sonychron had just blinked seventeen, Greenwich
or L-City time... which would make it eleven in the morning in zone six,
dirtside.
And so it was because that's where we were, zone six, in the north pasture
of my Uncle Jock's place outside Grinnell, Iowa. So it becomes obvious that I
not only had lost much blood but also had been hit hard on the head-as even the
hottest military courier needs at least two hours, Luna to Terra.
In front of us was Uncle Jock's fine old restored Victorian, cupola and
verandas and widow's walk, and he himself was coming toward us, accompanied by
two other men. Uncle was as spry as ever, and still with a mop of silver-white
hair that made him look like Andrew Jackson. The other two I did not recognize.
They were mature men but much younger than Uncle Jock-well, almost everybody is.
Hazel stopped pushing me, ran and threw her arms around one of them, kissed
him, all out. My uncle picked her out of that man's arms, bussed her just as
enthusiastically, then surrendered her to the third, who saluted her the same
way and put her back on her feet.
Before I could feel left out, she turned and took the first one by his left
hand. "Papa, I want you to meet my husband, Richard Colin. Richard, this is my
Papa Mannie, Manuel Gar-cia O'Kelly Davis
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