‘I’ll wager that militiaman never rode the animal, then. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. ‘She’s an eviltempered little termagant, yes, but there’s no malice aforethought. Yes, I can readily believe it. “Where have you been! If Sheila finds out, she’ll kill you!” She summoned a few tears to elicit sympathy from him.
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