" "It wasn't the fumes of whisky that toppled him out of his chair. ’ ‘Don’t talk soft,’ begged Martha. She found a clean sweatshirt and soft pajama pants, glad to trade the wet for the dry. His figure was tall and commanding, and the expression of his countenance (though somewhat disturbed by his recent exertion) was resolute and stern. He talked about his driver's license, how he would soon inherit his older brother's BMW. "Tom! Hey, Tom!" The Chinese cook thrust his head into the dining room.
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