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Two Stories by Sarah Robin

      The Voices In My Father's Study I was sat cross-legged on the rug in front of the fire playing with some toy soldiers when I heard the voices for the first time. I wasn’t scared, but I was curious as they weren’t voices I had heard before. I thought maybe my mother had visitors in the lounge, however when I passed her to go to the bathroom, she was sat doing her needlework with nobody with her but Winston, our old cat. When I returned to the study, I paused by the doorway and looked at my father – well, I say I looked at my father, he was always hidden by The Times in the evenings. It was a comical sight, like the newspaper had its own pair of tailored trousers and shiny brown boots, with puffs of cigar smoke occasionally rising from behind. There was part of me that wondered if he was playing tricks on me but then again he didn’t normally joke around like that, not when he was reading his articles anyway. Maybe he had had one too many glasses of brandy. I rose onto my

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