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There once was a picnic in El Dorado, Arkansas. All the fashionable young people were there. Dressed in picnic white. Except for the young girl in the flower dress. She stood out. She was there with someone, or was there someone there that wanted to be with her. They were all friends, but there was a current of jealousy flowing slowly through one of them there. Was he the one who wanted her or the one who brought her?

There were various attempts to woo, to impress, to catch her eye and hold it. But there was another there. One who seemed easily to impress. One who was more personable. One could steal her eye and hold it. But he was there with someone else. Did he even want her? Was he trying to make the rival look the fool?

Cathcart was there, long before the betrayal, long before the fateful drive. He was there and he wanted the girl in the flower dress. But my grandfather was there as well. Why was he always there? Cathcart wanted to know.

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