"You're smart ... and pretty ... and you make me laugh sometimes. You're ... I don't know ... you're Jennifer, and I just love you."Jennifer rolled he... eyes once, looked up at the ceiling and sighed."When we're done here, and you take me home, where are you going to go after that?" she asked.He blinked. "Back to Atlanta, of course," he said, sounding confused."And how do you feel about that?" It's where I live," he said helplessly. "My shop is there. Where else would I go?" I'm not going to. Know any muckrakers?"She nodded, blinking. "There was a woman, Ida something." Right, Ida Tarbell, magazine writer mainly, she said that with imagination, anything was possible, something like that. That's a neat idea. Imagination. What did she do; whom did she write about? Charlie?" Standard Oil, Rockefeller." The bright boy stayed slumped down in his seat, pretending disinterest. "John I think, John D. Rockefeller." Exactly. So? What happened? What about Rockefeller? Who's he? Go on. More

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