She gazed with a quiet detachment toward the window and the Oxford Street traffic, and in her heart she was busy kicking this man to death. She dared not say the word aloud, not even to herself. ” “For example?” “Your dyed hair. Perhaps that was the reason why she enjoyed preparing suppers at the Becks. She ran through the backyards of Pinecrest subdivision, piano wire and a slim jim tucked into her pantyhose. “You, anyhow, don’t deserve it,” he said.
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