Raymond Plote would only be missed by his mother. ‘That’s what started the fracas,’ Gerald admitted ruefully, nursing his injured hand as he recalled it. “Fearful old fogey! I can’t imagine any sister of yours putting up with him for a moment. My late husband, I mean. ” Her elation teetered in mid-air for a second, then began to flutter down around her like a badly-built house of cards. " "Well, this young lady I was about to describe," said the doctor, "is Enschede's daughter.
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