9. ’ ‘Yes, but when I think about this, I do not think I can do so,’ she said candidly. Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits. But at length, there was a click, and with a swish, the panel of painted books swung outward from the wall. Gerald smiled and crooked his elbow. It’s a thing I’ve unaccountably overlooked. Pause. "Curse him!" muttered Abraham. “So, how’d it go?” Lucy sighed.
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