Bill was a man of his word. This applied particularly when it came to such vitally important things as food, being nice to pregnant ladies, and bringing food to pregnant ladies for purposes of being nice. As such,
as promised, he was on his way back to Tina's rooms within a couple of days, proffering a bagful of Vulcan pudding in a variety of
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"Bill! Come in. I was afraid you were going to be someone else."
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"Do I even need to ask who?" he asked, wryly. "Are you okay?"
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She made a face. "I went to see a play last night, and Roger and James got in a fistfight at intermission."
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Gone were the days, evidently, when all he had to worry about was being confused for someone identical to himself, with whom Tina had a rather more fraught relationship. Which category contained only (ha!) two people.
He took her by the elbow and led her over to the couch. "A fistfight over you, I take it? You're sure you're okay?" His expression darkened. "I hope someone's dealing with the bastards."
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