His brow furrowed ever more intensely as he wrote at a more urgent and desperate pace. He seemed to race the dawn, racing to an end no less dramatic t...an the magnificence of the rising sun. Alexander never once questioned his purpose, he lived to write not for others but for himself. He had lost a great many friends in his lust. Constant contemplation and deep thought possessed him through his life and guided him and never would he have doubted what he did was right. The woman could not. "You shall make us ladies a coffee before we start; you'll not need one though. Instant will be fine; the kitchen is through there, you'll see what's necessary." He found it a little difficult to stand at first, as the women all paused from their selecting of tales to stare as he ventured to do as he was told. Their staring satisfied smiles as they watched him walk to the kitchen in the effeminate chiffon shawl, spoke volumes of the pleasure they were having of him thus far. He gave no thought. More

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