Cissy stared round the neat room, seeing a bare, black cast iron fireplace devoid of flame and warmth, it being mid July. The mantle piece was full of...ornaments and photos which didn’t cover an enormous wall mounted mirror, it’s glazing tarnished at some edges. A very worn leather armchair was beside the hearth rail, a small table laden with a rum bottle and empty glass, part eaten packet of chocolate biscuits, an ornately carved empty Meerschaum pipe on a clean ashtray and no sign of being. ”“$10,000 every six months, did I hear that correct!” he stuttered.“That’s right you heard correctly.” I agreed.“You’re OK with this.” he asked my parents.“It’s his money Mr. Nash.” Dad confirmed for him.“Deal. I think I might enjoy doing work for you Jack.”“I hope so to Mr. Nash, is it ok to call you Graham, I know I am a lot younger than you, but it would make future conversations easier.”“Sure I can handle that, as long as I can call you Jack.” he replied, so I smiled and nodded.Graham then. He would continue put her through that hell whenever his urges became too strong.He could do it, he would do it, because he loved her.But that wasn't why we were staring at the brown haired beauty.We were staring for the same reason a tear ran down her cheek.In addition to her selflessness and despite her hope, there was a deep seated belief that took us all by surprise. A belief we never would have guessed was there. A belief that she was evil, damaged – unworthy of love. She had hope that one. Mike grinned right back and said, "That bad huh, why am I surprised? Glancing over at his Pop, he said, "Hey Dad, we're going to step into Angelo's. You want anything?" Yeah son, a cup and a Bolo would go down nice about now," his Father replied."You got it Pop, back in a bit." Turning toward the Bakery, Mike said, "Come on guys, the least we can do is talk over the 'good stuff'."As they popped through the delivery door, Mike sung out, "Hey Angelo. Got any Ambrosia and hot buns for a couple of.