She went to the basement and shed her sodden coat and scarf, tossing them into her favorite modern appliance, the electric dryer. Well-balanced, sane, wasn’t I? You never heard anyone call me a madman? I’m pretty near being one now, and it’s her fault. It was bad luck to go to Canongate. Losing his presence of mind, Jack quitted his hold, and dropped upon the frame. “But your hair,” he gasped. “We played at love-making in Paris.
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