In Larry’s old Cadillac sedan, she sat in the backseat as Larry drove and Cathy sat beside him. Here, where every element of her surroundings was tawdry and commonplace, and before this young man of vulgar origin and appearance, it was striking. She evolved a dim image of herself cooped up in a house under the benevolent shadow of Mr. He lit a cigarette and loitered about. “You are their friend, then?” “I am,” Courtlaw answered.
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