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Night Rodeo A childhood visit to the county fair: A barrel with reins and a saddle attached. Four men thrashed ropes fastened to front and rear, and no bronc was ever so difficult to stick to. It came to mind when his date, the lady bodybuilder, gazed lustfully across the candlelit table.
Good Lord, thought Moran, I didn’t paint that! The ambiguous love-hate expression on the sitter’s face had been changed to unambiguous yearning. Moran checked his other paintings in the gallery. Gray streaks painted out of a cobalt blue sky, another apple added to a still life—all of his paintings had been altered, and not for the better. Moran noticed Cuthbert, the gallery owner, standing behind him. Cuthbert’s arms were folded, and he was examining the paintings with a proud smile. This, thought Moran, is the last time I let my work be shown by a former magazine editor.
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