Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. She could not say who, not yet. This was unscrupulous, he admitted, because he had no intention of following through on the seductive promise in his conduct. John sat pensively in the back of his best friend's mother's minivan, piloted by his best friend Mark. "Come away!" he cried, with the roar of a demon.
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