Her concluding paragraph was, on the whole, perhaps, hardly starchy enough. "And now, widow," he continued, "attend to the next verse, for it consarns a friend o' yours. I got myself locked up to cool off. To his relief, she nodded. She grew perhaps a shade paler, and she glanced out into the street, where her four-wheeler cab, laden with luggage, was still waiting. No, this was imbecile. She's the boss. The doctor paced the room half a dozen times. That would be an unkind twist of fate.
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