“‘Nobody pinched ’em, Fred. You’re the only one who eats those. But nobody told me, either, when I went to Salisbury’s yesterday, that we were out.’ Lachlan’s American drawl softened his remonstration. He was casually dressed in dark trousers, white shirt and tweed jacket, ready for a day with patients. He pushed his grapefruit husk away and turned to a bowl of All Bran and skimmed milk. ‘I can’t eat that tasteless muck.’ Fred slouched to the breadbin. ‘Oh, good, you remembered to buy some f...resh bread. Can we have white next time, though? I’ll make do with toast. Anybody else want some?’ ‘Thank you, yes.’ At Karen’s voice Fred whirled round, consternation on his face. He clutched at his sagging pyjama bottoms as Lachlan chuckled. The tall girl, wearing a long red sweater and black leggings, walked into the kitchen and stopped uncertainly. Lachlan looked at him critically. ‘If you don’t want a female to see you in a state of undress, why don’t you get up a few minutes earlier and come down to breakfast like an MP instead of an overgrown schoolboy?’ The American was only a year or so older than Fred, but he had already assumed a fatherly air.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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