The chromatic fiction with which he relieved his mind glanced but slightly at this aspect of life, and never with any quality of guidance. Madame Valade was that kind of woman. She ran through the backyards of Pinecrest subdivision, piano wire and a slim jim tucked into her pantyhose. "Vill this do?" demanded the constable, taking the candle from the lantern, the better to display the narrow limits of the hole. Spurling had retired for the night.
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