How do you like the story?” “Go on,” said Ann Veronica, a little hoarsely, “tell me all of it. She made no answer, and for a time he debated some problems with himself. ‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily. ‘Don’t be silly. No amount of scrubbing could remove the stains, the blood of an unknown man she had stolen from the scene of a car accident, a stupid drunk with no license who had wrapped his Chevy truck around a very large oak tree. White?” she asked, laughing.
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