’ With difficulty, Gerald bit back a laugh. The truth at once flashed across his mind. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. You'll live to hate chicken; and the man in you will rise up and demand strong drink. “Hey, Mike. “Too late, my dear girl,” she exclaimed. Wished to see you.
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