"You mean when it gets hard?" Amber nodded, still blushing. "No, it doesn't hurt. It's a bit, I don't know, I guess 'stretchy' is the best word. But i... doesn't hurt. If I stay hard for a very long time, that can hurt a bit." How do you get... you know... hard," Amber asked."Well, I'm a seventeen-year-old boy. At my age, it's very unpredictable. Someone like your Dad can control it better. I sometimes get hard when the wind blows." We all chuckled at that, except for Amber, who was looking very. Firemen were clearing out anything that could still harbour an ember and throwing stuff out of the glassless windows. I recognised so many items of familiar furniture piled haphazardly in the street, partially burned and blackened. Mrs. Johnson was one of the small gathering and as she talked she turned and saw me. She left the others and walked over. Enfolding me in her arms she cried in a broken voice."Oh Richard. This is a terrible thing. Why could it happen to such nice people? You poor. More

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