She lifted the sheet and gestured for him to join her. " "But, Lord, man!—don't you ever get lonesome?" "Don't you?" "I'm too busy. What are you after?’ ‘But my pistol and dagger, imbecile,’ she exclaimed impatiently, moving sharply back. They were a dull grey, but the dark frizzed hair that framed her face was attractive. It was Missy and Michelle in her grandmother's old Buick. Afraid, no doubt, he thought grimly, that her other visitor would leave.
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