She could not risk going in the door, lest she run into Larry or Cathy drinking a nocturnal glass of milk or Mike raiding the refrigerator for snacks. Sir John, by instinct and training, was an unimaginative person. She had made a bed for herself out of wood and furs. He stirred continually, thrusting his legs about and flinging his arms above his head. I’ve no name for it yet.
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