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Updated: May 15, 2025
"Oliver? This is Jennifer Lindenthwaite." "Hi, Jennifer." "I'm calling for the Wetlands Conservancy." "Oh, I thought you wanted to take me to Atlantic City." "Rupert might not like that," she said. "I suppose not," he said. "Ah, well . . ." "Can you do some work for us, Oliver? Our mailing list is in hopeless shape. We bought a computer, but no one knows how to do anything but type letters on it."
"Thank God for routers," he said to Jennifer Lindenthwaite. "Took me about five tries, but I did it." "I wish Rupert had your talent," she sighed. "It's not talent; it's pig-headedness." "Pigs are sweet, really," Jennifer said. "They get a bad rap." She stood. "Let's see the program." She liked what he'd done and asked him whether Jacky had approved it.
Everybody's got some kind of problem. It started raining. He was wet through when he got home. "Soaked, Verdi," he said. He changed into dry clothes and considered dinner. Instant red beans and rice? The doorbell rang. He went down the stairs and opened the door to the street. Jennifer Lindenthwaite was standing there, dripping. "Hi, Oliver." "Jennifer!" "Aren't you going to ask me in?" "Sure.
"What have you been up to?" Jennifer Lindenthwaite asked on Tuesday morning. "Making a box," Oliver said. "Oh, that's exciting." "It's harder than it looks for me, anyway." Jennifer wanted him to look at her and not at an imagined box. She was a solid blonde, Nordic, with broad cheeks and a big smile. "I worry about Rupert when he does things around the house. Something usually goes wrong."
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