I told her I was sick today and she told me to get over myself. Spurling, (for she it was,) either by her attractions of purse or person, had succeeded in moving the stony heart of Mr. “More coffee, hon?” She held her hand over the cup. Rhea went down, screeching and clawing at the air for the sword, which clanked heavily on the ground. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure.
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