"Hell," Luke muttered to himself as he looked at the broken, bleeding pads beneath his fingers. He was already exhausted, and he wasn't even halfway through those trunks. How the hell does a man wield this heavy clunky thing for so long? His father had to have hands smooth as gravel. The calluses he got from lifting weights were nothing compared to this.
Dany was perched on her stump, coloring and maybe shoving her pencil a little harder into the paper than she normally did. She'd broken the tip twice. She refused to look at the i***t splitting logs. Okay, so his brain was screwed in the wrong way, but did that give him the right to be a preachy, bullheaded nut?
Why do you think I made such a good lawyer? She heard her father's words in her mind. She hoped to the Heavens that Luke mellow
