It’s these damned novels. " "'Bloody and deceitful men shall not live half their days'," said Wood, reading aloud another passage. “I remember hearing something about it. I’ll take over here. As to his mother, I've no pity for her. ” “It would be different all the same. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. While he was thus occupied, he felt a rough grasp upon his arm, and presently afterwards Ben's lips approached close to his ear.
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