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being sent to the book binder. Thee last date on which the University would accept the thesis was March 25. It would be necessary for me to work day and night to meet this deadline, while at the same time keeping to my normal schedule as an MP.

I was working in parliament on Monday 2 February, when I received a phone call from Donna. Her voice sounded strange. She had something difficult to say:

"Boss, I have to tell you that I will be leaving to get married."

She had seemed restless since her overseas trip, and I suspected that she might be looking towards some romantic involvement. I could not expect that she would devote the whole of her life to working for me.

"Who is the lucky man?" I asked, vaguely feeling happy for her, but sad for myself.

"John Morrison."

I was dumbfounded. John Morrison, who only a few months before had urged my to sack Donna, to replace her with a dolly bird, was now taking her away to become his wife.

They were obviously deeply in love. John was a widower, his first wife having died of cancer the previous year. Now John and Donna wanted to move to Queensland to start a new life together.

The following Friday, February 4, there was much to occupy my mind. While I worked in my offie in parliament, the radio was kept on, telling of dramatic

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