Betty actually thought both it and the room, softened by indoor palms, very beautiful, just tainted by the presence of the man in black sitting at the top of the room. He was smoking a cigar, tapping the ashes into a blue willow ashtray, and he stood up when he saw her. “My Betty, my little girl, how tired you look.” “It is evening for me, General,” Betty said, voice low and steady as she pointedly ignored Slim who sat on his right side with a brief case on the table between them as though they had just finished putting work into it. When he heard that Betty was not giving him a warm greeting, her father sank back down into his chair with a sigh. “Not even a smile for your old papa?” “Not while you call me a little girl.” “Term of endearment, my dove, but if you feel you have outgrown it, then I will stop using it. Take a seat. They're bringing out a swan for us today, a proper Thanksgiving feast, just without the turkey. A bit too uncommon in these parts ever since the turkey farm had the bird flu.”
