He wondered how his father would act if he knew about Doreen. Probably Leo would be grief-stricken; he came from a strait-laced generation—born in 1924, a long, long time ago. It was a different world, then. Amazing, how his father had adapted to this world, now; a miracle. Leo, born in the boom period following World War One, and now standing here on the edge of the Martian desert . . . but he still would not understand about Doreen, about how vital it was for him to maintain an intimate contact of this sort, at any cost; or rather, almost any cost. “What’s her name?” Leo said. “W-what?” Jack
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