Gossip was the driving force in Sheila’s existence. They slow danced to a Bon Jovi ballad. She was retuning, fifths spilling from the sliver of light underneath the door like milk. Bah! She does not know me very well, and you—not at all. Wood required little pressing. He breathed heavily, as though he had been running. " "I'm satisfied with your assurance," replied the carpenter, drily.
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