“Life’s so queer,” she said, kneeling and looking into the flames. Close upon this came another thought. Ann Veronica’s appearance was brief and undistinguished. His apparel was sumptuous in the extreme, and such as was only worn by persons of the highest distinction. Mike was draped over the laminate kitchen counter, on the phone as usual. Ruth sighed; Spurlock stood up and drew his hand across his forehead as if awakening from a dream. Sweet sixteen year old Shari, who never once figured out the morning sleep hangovers she suffered monthly.
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