The fresh air will do both of us good and
we have a lot to talk about. After all, we haven't seen each other for
over five years."
* * * * *
They were silent, however, until they were away from the Airport
Building and walking along High Garden Terrace in the direction of the
Mall. Conn was glad; his own thoughts were weighing too heavily within
him: I didn't do it. I was going to do it; every minute, I was going to
do it, and I didn't, and now it's too late.
"That was quite a talk you gave them, son," his father said. "They
believed every word of it. A couple of times, I even caught myself
starting to believe it."
Conn stopped short. His father stopped beside him and stood looking at
him.
"Why didn't you tell them the truth?" Rodney Maxwell asked.
The question angered Conn. It was what he had been asking himself.
"Why didn't I just grab a couple of pistols off the table and shoot the
lot of them?" he retorted. "It would have killed them quicker and
wouldn't have hurt as much."
His father took the cigar from his mouth and inspected the tip of it.
"The truth must be pretty bad then.
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