CHAPTER SEVEN
Tim Huntley sat back against one of Judy's big overstuffed pillows, thumbed absently through the morning paper. Never any news worth reading, he thought, always the same old crap: wars and bombings and riots and murders. It seemed that his whole life had consisted of bad news and violence; he didn't need to know about the greater violence going on in the world at large. He had never been happy, he thought, never in his life until now, until he met Judy.
Judy, he thought, yawning and stretching, laying back against the soft pillow. His body was tired, pleasantly tired -- they had made love practically all night, falling asleep only in the last few minutes before dawn, when they were completely exhausted, completely filled with one another. They had slept then, for a few hour
