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Show 110 thoughts; he was perceptive, at times, that way. "This will only take a few minutes." He grabbed his coat from the entry closet. "Well, okay," Sharon said, pleased. "See you." He blew her a kiss-in an exaggerated stage manner -as he closed the door behind him. In the kitchen, the oven door was already down, Mr. Green was sliding out a large, baking sea bass. "Why that looks good," Sharon said, "I haven't seen one of those in quite a while." He jabbed the large slab of fish with a long cooking fork; it was done. "There," he said, "that will do it." "Where did you get it?" she asked. "I took it off a boat," Mr. Green slid the rack of fish back into the oven, closing the door and then turning down the dial, "this morning off Newport Beach." "Just out of the harbor there?" "Why yes," Mr. Green looked at her, "don't tell me you're a fisherman too?" "No, but my dad was. He used to take them there." "When was that?" "Oh, five, six, seven years ago." Sharon paused. "He's dead now." "Yes, I know," Mr. Green said. "Roger told me." Sharon suddenly wanted to talk about her father, to tell his man about him. Mr. Green seemed to read her feelings: "He was quite a fisherman, huh?" |