“Well, I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. ” “Ready for the performance next Friday?” Martin asked. A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall. The air became hot and swollen with June humidity. In the next place, she really had some pretensions to beauty. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground.
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