’ Gerald moved to the long sofa, dusted it with elaborate care with one of its cushions, and with a gesture invited her to sit down. “Thank God,” he exclaimed. But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage. She entered the last room, his bedroom. If he hasn't a job for you, he'll know someone who has. And, without another word, he seized the table with both hands, and upset it; scattering plates, dishes, bottles, jugs, and glasses far and wide.
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