Smythe, a burly, fierce-looking middle-aged man who lived by himyself even deeper in the forest and brought firewood to young ladies' houses in winter...in exchange for certain favours. My father had always told me to be careful around him and whenever I saw his arms and biceps bulging beneath his shirt, I felt afraid and understood why my father told me this. "Oh, Mr. Smythe, um, I just came out here for a picnic and, uh, Ma and Pa will be back soon, I was just about to head back," I stammered,. Now he sat in the front seat with Nina staring at the road like a pissed of cat cladded in a black suit. He was wondering if that was foreshadowing of her mood. He felt uncomfortable in the passenger seat just staring ahead and trying to gauge Nina’s mood from his peripheral vision. It was made more difficult by Serina sitting in the back seat watching the whole thing. He tried to keep the image of her sitting in the back casually dress in a tight black tub top that barely covered her breasts. More

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