They were now in a sort of cellar, at one end of which was a door. She was reasonably certain why. The man was my husband. ‘Point it at me. Rollo barked. ” The official shrugged his shoulders. A disagreeable young man, with red hair and a loose mouth, seated at the reporter’s table, was only too manifestly sketching her. He was really very proud of her, and extraordinarily angry and resentful at the innocent and audacious selfreliance that seemed to intimate her sense of absolute independence of him, her absolute security without him. He looked just as Julian had the night she had first met him outside the Joliet Laundromat.
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