Nearly incomprehensible, but the voice was kind and smart
and patient, too.
"You'll have a hard time giving me any licks from the top of the stairs,
Da, and Alan looks like he's going to die if you don't at least come
down and say hello."
Alan blushed furiously. "You can come down whenever you like, sir," he
said. "That's all right."
"That's mighty generous of you, young sir," said the voice. "Aye. But
before I come down, tell me, are your intentions toward my daughter
honorable?"
His cheeks grew even hotter, and his ears felt like they were melting
with embarrassment. "Yes, sir," he said in a small voice.
"He's a dreadful pervert, Da," Marci said. "You should see the things he
tries, you'd kill him, you would." She grinned foxish and punched him in
the shoulder. He sank into the cushions, face suddenly drained of blood.
"*What*?" roared the voice, and there was a clatter of slippers on the
neutral carpet of the stairs. Alan didn't want to look but found that he
couldn't help himself, his head inexorably turned toward the sound,
until a pair of thick legs hove into sight, whereupon Marci leapt into
his lap and threw her arms around his neck.
"Ge'orff me, pervert!" she said, as she began to cover his face in
darting, pecking kisses.
He went rigid and tried to sink all the way into the sofa.
"All right, all right, that's enough of that," her father said.
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