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He looked just as Julian had the night she had first met him outside the Joliet Laundromat. That held his thought as the magnet holds the needle, inescapably. "I am Owen Wood, at your service. They were in many respects so right; she clung to that, and shirked more and more the paradoxical conviction that they were also somehow, and even in direct relation to that rightness, absurd. Men had tried that before, but never until now had they been quick enough. .
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