Henley rushed up the stairs and into the bedroom. As he entered, he saw the closet door slam shut. Bare feet poked out from under the curtains. And the bed was raised up off the floor, and teetered from side to side.
His wife, out of breath, pretended to brush her hair at the dressing table. "Hi Donny," she said, "what's wrong?"
Henley exploded.
"You can't hide your Illini."
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