" With no little effort—for the right words had a way of tumbling back out of reach—he marshalled his phrases, and as he uttered them, closed his eyes to lessen the possibility of a break. His conscience never told him to go back and take his punishment; it tortured him only in regard to the deed itself. He had a narrow escape, however; for, passing within an inch of him, the bullet burried itself deeply in the wall. “Girl friends. “Yeah, where the hell were you? My friends would have driven you home when I came home if I could have found you.
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