“I want a vote for myself,” she said. She too had seen. ‘Possibly,’ he said. Saturday mornings at the Beck house were routine, coffee, newspaper, bagels, and Looney Toons in no particular order. The candle was shaking in his hand as Ruth appeared in the doorway. He accepted the glass of wine, and bowed. She stood 218 there, broken bottle still in hand. Out of the beaten track! He must not appear too eager.
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