Her thesis loomed. Debussy. Prelude to the Afternoon of a Fawn. Stacks of notes caught by a passing gust, papers joining leaves in a flurry down a win...swept, cobbled street, frantic grasping, and how he’d joined her rounding up notes before they disappeared in the next gust. How she cried, how he had helped her pick up the pieces, carried her along even then. The afternoon of a fawn. Indeed, his entire life, the entire score of their days together had been little more than foreshadowing. Such a. And the world would have failed her again, just as she knew it would. He thought of the Greek myth of Sisyphus, forever rolling his boulder up the hill and his smile widened.“Good morning, girls.”Shelly whimpered. His smile disappeared.“GOOD MORNING, GIRLS,” he shouted.Shelly shrieked a brief shriek.“Good morning,” in a tone he could only identify as hateful, came out of Alisha.He walked up to Alisha. He heard her breath quicken and his cock stiffened. He punched her in the stomach, knocking. More

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