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. You might disappear
like Mr. Schultz. Beloved, if they shoot you, they are going to have to shoot me
first."
I attempted to reason with her; she put her hands over her ears. "I won't
argue it, I can't hear you, I'm not listening!" She uncovered her ears. "Come
help me pack. Please."
"Yes, dear."
Gwen packed in less time than I had taken, yet my help consisted mostly of
keeping out of her way. I'm not too used to living with females; military
service is not conducive to homelife and I had tended to avoid marriage, aside
from short-term contracts with Amazon comrades-contracts automatically canceled
by orders for change of duty. After I reached field grade I had had female
orderlies a couple or six times- but I don't suppose that relationship is much
like civilian marriage, either.
What I'm trying to say is that, despite having written many thousands of
words of love-confession stories under a hundred-odd female pen names, I don't
know much about women. When I was learning the writing scam, I pointed this out
to the editor who bought from me these sin, suffer, and repent stories. The
editor was Evelyn Fingerhut, a glum middle-aged man with a bald spot, a tic, and
a permanent cigar.
He grunted. "Don't try to leam anything about women; it would handicap
you."
"But these are supposed to be true stories," I objected.
"They are true stories; every one of them is accompanied by a sworn
statement: "This story is based on fact
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