As she approached the corner of the Avenue the blond, no-hatted man in gray flannels appeared. And son of a pig,’ she grunted, baring her teeth. She often found herself absorbed by watching the tall grass undulate from the cave’s central doorway as solitary hunters prowled for buffalo and stag on the plain. Hanging on the wall was a temple censer, bronze, moulded in the shape of a lotus blossom with stem and leaves—deadly as a club. ” His face darkened. His name is John.
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