" "God help me, what a muddle!" The cigar crumbled in Spurlock's hand. She had to exert tremendous energy not to sniff the air for his blood. Ramage. There, hanging among Ann Veronica’s more normal clothing, was a skimpy dress of red canvas, trimmed with cheap and tawdry braid, and short—it could hardly reach below the knee. He entered the driver’s side, not inserting the keys in the ignition.
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