McCoy

McCoy decided now was a good time to change the subject.

McCoy was sure some of the women would come back.

McCoy would give everything she had to have her mother or father back.

McCoy would get to the point in his own good time.

McCoy asked, almost more to himself than as a question.

McCoy said, giving voice to what everyone else was thinking.

McCoy looked all of his near century and a half in age.

McCoy looked as though he would rather have done anything else.

McCoy didn't know what they were teaching them in school these days.

McCoy was looking down at him as though he could read his mind.

McCoy was the first to speak, his human voice out of place here.

McCoy came up behind him and looked over the information, too.

McCoy could only look at him for a long moment.

McCoy asked, moving back toward the center of the room.

McCoy looked around at his friends, from one to the next, and saw each of them doing the same.

McCoy, however, was not sure how real the peace might be.

McCoy does not appear to be alone in his thinking.

McCoy played with his glass and did not look at him.

McCoy knew, of course, why he was being asked to go along.

McCoy didn't seem to be doing all that well himself.

McCoy got up and went to take it from him.

McCoy had never known a wind to feel so cold.

McCoy had seen the data, and still he asked this question?

McCoy didn't like the sound of that and said so.

McCoy asked himself now, as he'd done so many times already.