’ ‘Yes, she duped me finely,’ agreed Gerald. "Stop, Caliban," interposed Mrs. ‘Do you not understand that I can trust no one—no one?’ ‘That is a pity,’ Gerald said, rising to face her. Only a book detective could dope this out. He first met her when he had caught her smoking behind the Joliet LaudrO-Matic one cool overcast day in late August. The night had swallowed him up, but his work on her was done. Considering how little he lets her have. . She had found it in 1988, the year of the stock market crash.
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