One point in her narrative stood out beyond all others. The wedding day came shortly after she turned fourteen. “Hello?” She asked as she cradled the phone by her ear. John exited quickly from the side of the stage and returned to where his mother and father sat. Ludicrously loud sounds streamed from the array of speakers. When he faced Spurlock, the granite was cracked and rived; never had Spurlock seen such dumb agony in human eyes. He left his office at 5:39 according to her watch. Then he sat down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung up. ‘What are the chances, do you think, of that thing being already cocked?’ ‘Probably not even loaded,’ suggested Hilary hopefully.
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