He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. He stood outside of the car, bewildered, as she walked up to the BMW’s front bumper. He had nothing to guide him; for though the torches were blazing ruddily below, their gleam fell only on the side of the building. The prostitute’s attack was predictable, typical. There was going to be no quarter between these two.
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