John sat pensively in the back of his best friend's mother's minivan, piloted by his best friend Mark. Have you seen much of her lately?” “Nothing at all,” he answered. She sat in deep thought for a moment or two, and then nodding briskly, dipped the pen in the ink again and began to write. They were sharp and dripping with black blood. She uncrossed her legs and lowered herself, carefully and slowly, until she lay supine. She always managed to get back to the bungalow before he did.
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