I carefully drew back the canvas exposing six long arms and three small wooden boxes. None showed any sign of rust.Starting at one end I picked up eac... one with a handkerchief between the weapon and my hand. The barrel read 'Henry .44 RF'. The plates covering the mechanism were a dull steel grey. An odd-looking round, leather covered box with a shoulder strap lay next to it. It was full of empty metal frames with a tang on one end. Using the photographs I took I later found it to be an iron. The chair is comfortable, I must admit and I relax a bit, easing the tension between my shoulders. “Your name is Cleo?” he asks in his all business voice, sounding so reasonable.I mumble an affirmative response, not going to make it easy on him.He starts to ask a lot of questions and follows up on them when he senses that I am holding back.Somehow he manages to make me speak up and talk about my feelings.Despite my misgivings I feel myself trusting him and answer his questions honestly.His. More

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