She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. And now Ann Veronica’s evenings were also becoming very busy. She held it down with the poker, looking nervously over her shoulder. The movie droned on, the sounds becoming manageable except for the frequent high-pitched screams of young girls when a poltergeist manifestation would leap out of a shadow. The Bitchster strikes again. Wild never was the associate of thieves. Humph. “Thank you.
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