She fought a compulsive urge to yank his shirt free. You poor man, what have you been doing to yourself?” “Nothing except travelling all night,” he answered. Only her ungloved fingers, and the arms in their long tight sleeves as she held the heavy gun aloft, bore any sign of stiffness. Little did I imagine at the time that it was my own father to whom he referred. “There was a keg, hash, LSD, pot, you know, the usual.
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