Luckily, none of them were successful in the attempts and there was no need to chase a spooked horse down the middle of the muddy street with little g...atitude from the careless owner.The small gathering of new settlers hunkered down on the station platform circled like a wagon train waiting for an attack by some of the Apache renegades that lived to make trouble for anyone and everyone because that was their nature unlike the so-called reservation Indians that sucked up the rot-gut whiskey. Her private confessor, the shy and withdrawn Father Reilly, found her insistence on self- punishment a bit “over the top” in secular terms, but he allowed her to show him her bruises and marks of penitence even when they were in an embarrassingly private spot usually not displayed for male observation. Her flushed face and rapid breathing concerned him at such times, but he put it down to mortification at her sinful deeds. His flesh was just as weak as some of the younger nuns and his need for. But she was nowhere to be seen.He went out to the back garden, maybe she was there enjoying the nice weather on this late afternoon. He called out for her but there was no answer. "That's odd." he said. Then it popped into his head. "That blasted bike!"He walked quickly to the shed now. And rage filled his face when he saw the broken lock on the handle doors. He swung open wide the doors and saw the bike was missing."That fucking bike!" he exclaimed. "It'll be the death of me yet!"He slammed. .." he lamented without finishing his thought. He glanced at me. "You know what I mean, don't you?" he asked. He saw that I was the only one that wasn't blushing, and he blurted out, "I supposed there's nothing at all that you wouldn't do for your..." His eyes flared as he bit off his words. They flickered between Christine and me as he struggled with his thoughts."We're still working that out," I suggested to get him off the hook. "There's almost nothing that I wouldn't do for my wife,.
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