Posed explicitly, gynecologically. I smothered my sigh.“There are more?”Head nod, still looking down.“Has he shown them to anyone else?”Nod.�...Would you like me to retrieve them?”Nod.Rifle practice, for Matt and me, was about a 90-minute drive south and west from Georgetown. It was in rural Virginia, private property — meadows, a small lake. And a portion of a larger forest full of different kinds of oak — white, scarlet, black — plus a mix of red maple and table mountain pine. Pretty.There was a. Mrs. Barie noticed his grimace. She stepped over to him and held out her hand. “Give me your thermos, I’ll refill it.”Bemused at her no-nonsense command, he passed her his thermos.John asked his questions while the woman worked. She filled an old metal stove-top percolator with water, ran fresh beans through a hand-cranked mill, filled the basket, and set it up on the stove. Then she rinsed out his thermos, then set it to soak with hot water and a spoonful of baking soda. Mrs. Barie noted his. More

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