By George, I forgot! McClintock said there was a typewriter in the office and that I could have it. It was as if she had come upon the beautiful marble façade of a fairy palace, was invited to enter, and behind the door—nothing. “If you interfere between us,” the man said, “it will go hardly with you. She dared not look directly at him, her head obscured by a gray hoodie, she had the slumped appearance of an androgynous adolescent. Tell him about the island, the coconut dance, the wooden tom-toms; read to him.
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