" "So you think," muttered Jack, between his ground teeth. ” “In the Middle Ages, from what you’re telling me. "I can do without it," muttered Jack. Every word you utter puzzles me. He breathed heavily, as though he had been running. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. No matter how much you tell me, you will always keep something back. “More coffee, hon?” She held her hand over the cup.
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