Mrs Robinson stood with a black and white cigarette holder in hand, smoke drifting from it. She peered out the window that she leaned against. Her black dress tight to her slender body and her blonde hair pulled back into a bun.. She was lost in her thoughts, watching the group of photographers waiting outside on her lawn. "Mrs Robinson" he husband interrupted her thoughts..
She looked at him as one looked at their husband in 1964, with love and obedience. "Let's go," he said, opening the door, waiting on her. She followed, tall on her back heals. She pulled her two-year-old son behind her, holding his hand. "Come, Walter" she spoke in a hushed tone.
"Prime Minister!" a photographer called at me Robinson. She was the wife of the prime minister, making her first lady, and a well-known figure in the community. Every woman wanted to be her. From the outside, they were the perfect family. What a shame, no one could see them at home when the doors were shut.
To the outsider and loyal 1960s citizen, devoted to their prime minister and their country, they were the most put together, picturesque family.
Behind closed doors, this family was full of dark secrets, both with Mr. Robinson's sordid affairs and hidden political agendas, and Mrs. Robinson's dark secrets unknown to her husband or the public at this time. Of course, Walter was in ignorant 2-year-old bliss to it all.
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