The inn was a military haunt. I don’t conceal it. She had worn a long skirt that morning, and a roomier sweater that was slightly easier to handle than Shari’s low cut numbers. It's two hundred pounds. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. “Mary! What’s going on! Why are you crying?!” He commanded an answer in a worried and slightly irritated tone. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all.
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