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“How long has it been? Sophomore year in high school….that would be?
No, let’s not calculate that now. He does look amazingly like Alan. Wouldn’t it be funny if here were Alan’s son? No, grandson, I would guess.”
She could almost feel Alan’s soft hands stroking her face, his voice deep and resonant. She wondered why they broke up. She remembered the tears, but not the reason. She was pondering why she couldn’t remember  
 when the young man in the tight jeans smiled at her.
 There was a split second when she hesitated then she quickly pretended nonchalance and opened her magazine.
By the time she got to Grand Central she felt like an expert on the modern feminist movement. She knew that she would demand that her husband give her more “space” for her own creativity, not allow the children to make unrealistic demands on her. She learned a few new tricks about managing money, to put into practice as soon as she got some of her own, which she was going to demand, and she learned a few new things in the bedroom department as well. But when she opened Playgirl to the center fold, she wasn’t quite prepared for what she saw.  She knew that they had revealing photos, but nothing like this ever entered her mind.  She quickly closed the magazine and just as quickly looked around to see if anyone noticed what she had done.  
Marion was sixty-five and if the truth be told, she had only seen one man