‘What do you have, grandpa, that is worth this boy’s life? A play? An operetta?’ His hands shaking, the old man reached into his coat, and pulle... out a thick stack of papers, yellowed with age, wrapped in twine. Across the front page, handwritten in dark ink, were the words, ‘The Tragedy of Pyrrhus.’ ‘It’s my novel,’ he admitted sadly. ‘I’ve been writing it for years. Please, take it, and leave this town in peace.’ He unknotted the twine and leafed through the pages with a trained eye. The. .. you want to dance after dinner? I mean, just to celebrate.” I thought for a second. I didn't want to risk anything, but on the other hand, Felicia deserved this. Plus, it wasn't unheard of for brothers and sisters to dance. It was a pretty common thing, if I remembered correctly. “Sure,” I told her. We cleaned up the dishes and went over to the living room floor. Felicia threw a Buddy Holly record on. This was 50s rock and roll, the kind you can dance to, the kind they don't make anymore.. More

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