Spurlock dove headlong at the other's legs, toppling the man. “And you brought her a man, I presume. She paced restlessly to the door and back again, biting her tongue on the hot words begging to be uttered. I guess those books are okay because they are fiction. "Mr. But—but how?’ ‘Can you write?’ Gerald asked, digging into one of his capacious pockets and bringing out a leather ring purse. I can’t. For a time Ann Veronica went on her way gauging the quality of sordid streets.
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