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her。 She finally fell into a restless sleep; only to be awaken at
intervals by the creak of that bed。 It was nearly dawn when she realized
that she wasn't brooding about Jeff for a change。 On that ironic note;
and thoroughly worn out; she slept soundly。
What seemed only moments later; she was jolted awake by a thunderous
noise in the kitchen。 Livid; she bolted out of bed; whipped the chair
from the door; and stormed toward the source of the racket。
〃What; in God's name; was that noise?〃 she shouted; rounding the kitchen
door in time to see Mitch picking up the first of a scattered mess of
pots; pans; and metal utensils that covered the linoleum by the stove。
He wore a navy velour robe that barely touched his knees; and was
barefoot like her。 And disheveled。 And very; very cranky。
Shooting her a sidelong glare; he bellowed; 〃What kind of housekeeper
are you; piling things in the cabi like that? Did you really expect
them to stay put once I opened the door? And where in the hell is the
orange juice press? My Lord; woman; get to it and clean up this mess!〃
Friends who knew Anne to be easygoing; even…tempered; understanding; and
acmodating would never have recognized the spitfire she suddenly
became。 It had been too long a day yesterday; too long a night last
night; too disturbing an ordeal for months; for an ounce of poise to
survive。
Dark eyes flashing; she confronted him。 〃You clean it up。 I didn't make
the mess; and I'm not your slave! It happens that I didn't touch that
cabi when I arrived。 Put your blame on whomever you please; as long
as it isn't on me! And what right do you have to wake me up? Thi