” “Well,” Mrs. "I haven't quite recovered the fright I got in the Vell-Hole," replied Abraham. ’ He strode to the fireplace behind the leather-topped desk and addressed his own reflection in the mirror, wagging an admonitory finger in his own face. “It is part of the irony of life,” he said. A sound sleeper, she was not roused by the creaky openings and closings of drawers as Lucy packed a single duffle bag with underwear and soap that was pilfered from a multipack of Zest in the Beck’s downstairs bathroom. I do not care in the least. " "Never count your chickens till they're hatched," observed Mrs.
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