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“Between who and whom?”
“Scylla and Charybdis,” she repeated impatiently. “The monster and the whirlpool. Book Twelve of The Odyssey. By Homer.”
“Yes. I know. I didn’t realize you were a student of Homer, Risa.”
“Every civilized person should have a deep knowledge of Homer,” she said. “Has there ever been a greater poet? A man with a more vivid imagination? There are lessons we can learn from him even today.” Risa laughed self-consciously. “Back to the transmission pylons, though. Here’s what I have in mind—”
Mark Kaufma
Homer? Holding companies? Transmission pylons? A deeper voice? No, he thought. No, it isn’t possible. She wouldn’t — she couldn’t—
From somewhere far away, Paul Kaufma
Quietly Mark agreed. He peered closely at Risa, seeking for signs, for proof, for confirmation of this strange and frightening fantasy of his. If it were true, a new, invincible force had entered their family, and all plans must be reconsidered. But it could not be true. It could not be true. It could not be true. “There we are,” Risa finished. She shoved the pad toward her father. “What do you say, Mark? How does the plan look to you?”
“I’ll have to think about it,” he said warily. “But it’s worth considering. If we can use Roditis’ own way of thinking to cut chunks out of his holdings, why not?”
Risa gri
“He is,” Mark Kaufma