He heard people talking and looked over. They weren’t the only ones in the pool anymore. Had they ever been? Why couldn’t he remember?There were a...lady and a man, now – two people he felt he’d seen somewhere before, but he couldn’t remember where. The woman was tall – just a few inches shorter than his father. She was really skinny with very thin, straight, brown hair that was fluttering in the breeze, going every which way. She was flat, too, her breasts just small, barely existent mounds.. “Yep, very new. It’s just that we met over the phone first, when she answered the call for her job, and it was ... what the French call ‘coup de foudre.’ That sort of love,” I explained to her.“The thunderclap. You talked to her, never even saw her face, and you were smitten. Wow ... that’s just not like you, Armie! You’re normally so cynical. I love it! My hard-nose, jaded son, falling in love over the phone with a complete stranger! I’m so happy for both of you! Forget everything that I ever. Careful now." He started stumbling through the jungle again, and must have taken a wrong course, because he happened into a glade with a stream that fed the river, and lo and behold, there was Sylvia.His first thought was relief that she was okay. Last thing I need is to lose anyone. Then he started to chew her out about her absence. "Damn it Syl, where've you been? The whole schedule got screwed up. I..." Then he stopped as he noticed a subtle change in her appearance.Her hair was down, and. Her eyes adjust to the soft purple glow of the room. She looks around her again, with the fear slowly subsiding, her heart relaxing when she realises she is in her living room. Her eyes stare straight ahead as she see the Moroccan candle lantern on the coffee table in front of her, its soft purple glass reflecting patterns around the room, inside burns a small lavender candle. Covering her is a thick blanket. She realises her husband must have come home and found her asleep on the sofa. He.
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.. Hair slicked back as if though she was downwind of the air outside. Those lines of her being trace the soul of that which possess the perfect gem c
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