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He had not addressed to her even the most ordinary courtesy of fellow travellers; she doubted that he was even aware of her existence. " Mr. Wood turned over to obtain a more comfortable position. ’ ‘What?’ squeaked Kimble. There were no evidences of any struggle, no overturned chairs or disarranged furniture. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. He, for his part, was trying to grasp the series of unexpected reactions that had so wrecked their tete-a-tete. But a biddable girl. She walked straight across to the wardrobe and opened it. “John?” He turned around in the recliner.
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