Fiction | March 01, 1999
Peninsula
Willoughby Johnson
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The house creaked and the flames of the Advent candles danced in the draft from a gale wind coming off the bay. Two days before Christmas and they were at dinner, Ellen serving, Mother and Papa, Uncle Pete and Aunt Daria and Jan herself, sitting across from the promising Mr. Ted Phillips, one of Papa’s engineers. His flight home had been postponed due to the weather, and Papa had asked him to dinner.
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