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Show 50 parents, she was thankful for that. They drove for over an hour, up Wilshire Boulevard and out Sunset, and then on a lane above the city where they parked. It was still early, there were no cars here yet. Below, to the south and west, were the lights of the city. A vague nimbus of irregular lines crisscrossing in rough grids, with groupings of light scattered among them. They were dull and far away, removed from life. What was she going to do now? Roger asked. She didn't want to think about it, she said, didn't want to talk about it. They leaned back in the seat. Without talking, watching the lights. The windows were down, and up here above the city, there was the light smell of the sea, which became stronger as they sat. He wanted to talk, she knew, but did not know what to say. She could not help him out. Rarely was he like this, without words. He finally scooted over beside her, placing his arm around her. She met his lips, unfeelingly, with hers. Tonight there was not that usual pleasant warmth within her. That dark electricity, that exciting strangeness. No, tonight she was filled with a hardness. An unfeeling hardness which held her away from him, away from herself. He placed his large hand on her breast, gently squeezing it. Her nipple grew erect, resisting him. It almost felt good. It was, finally, so distracting. So ultimately distracting. She unzipped her dress, he slipped his hand down inside her brassiere. The headlights of a car glanced off the rearview mirror. It startled her, she sat up, fumbling with her zipper. The car drove past, stopping at the end of the straight stretch ahead and turning off its |