Words With Fiends Read Free Page A

that at the end, though, she also committed the ultimate crime—she murdered a man in cold blood. Her personal code of honor required that she accept responsibility for her actions and, ultimately, accept punishment. That’s where the nobility comes in. Now, you were saying?”
    â€œI was saying, I disagree.” Mark used a forefinger to shove his slipping glasses higher on his nose. As he reached the counter, he turned his attention to Darla. As usual, a whiff of stale cigarette smoke clung to his clothing. “You’re on my side, aren’t you, Darla?” he whined, his pale blue eyes so magnified by the lenses of his glasses that he resembled an anime character. “You don’t just sit there and take it. You fight back. You know, like what Master Tomlinson always says.”
    Master Tom Tomlinson was the martial arts instructor who owned a nearby dojo where Darla had been taking lessons a couple of times a week over the past few months. Founder of a fighting style that blended elements of both judo and karate, Tomlinson had won numerous championships in his multi-decade career and had been a contemporary of Bruce Lee. Now pushing seventy, he’d long since left behind professional fighting to nurture new generations in his small gym. His students ran the gamut from grade schoolers to burly college-aged black belts to people like her . . . adults hoping to gain basic self-defense skills in addition to a physical fitness regimen.
    And, unfortunately, they also included Mark.
    Now, as Mark stared at her expectantly, Darla obediently echoed the mantra chorused by all of Master Tomlinson’s students at the start of every class.
“Run when you can, fight if you must, never give up, and never let injustice go unpunished,”
she said with a smile. “And that’s pretty good advice. But I’m not sure that it applies to
Tess of the d’Urbervilles
. Besides, since I’m not a member of your book club, I’ll let you and Martha duke this one out yourselves.”
    â€œFine, take her side,” was Mark’s aggrieved retort as he deliberately overlooked her attempt at neutrality. “You women are all alike, ganging up on men just to do some sort of female solidarity thing. You won’t even admit I might possibly be right.”
    â€œMark, you know that great literature—like beauty—is in the eye of the beholder,” Darla countered in as mild a tone as she could muster. “I’m not about to tell either of you that you’re wrong. Now, do you want to pay for your copy of
To Kill a Mockingbird
before you go, so you can get a jump on the next meeting, or will you come back for it this weekend?”
    â€œI’ll pay now.”
    His thin lips twisted in a sulky line, he snatched one of the copies of
Mockingbird
that Darla had special-ordered for the book club and slapped down a credit card on the counter. Darla took it and swiped it, even as she exchanged glances with Martha. The woman gave her a sympathetic look in return but made no comment beyond a barely audible tsking.
    â€œHere you go,” Darla said as she finished the transaction and slipped both book and receipt into the reusable bag Mark proffered. Then, trying to bring back a bit of customer service serenity to the situation, she asked, “So, have you read this one before, or are you coming to it fresh for the book club?”
    â€œI, uh, always meant to read it, but I never seemed to have the time before now,” he confessed. His accompanying guilty look was the same she’d seen on numerous customers’ faces as they admitted to never having cracked open the cover of a particular classic.
    Darla gave him a sympathetic nod.
    â€œI know exactly what you mean. There are so many books out there I know I should have read years ago but didn’t, that I always feel a bit guilty coming clean when someone asks. That’s why I think it’s so