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An ordinary type, of course—” Mrs. I might have told you the truth. “Then turn round and go back there,” she directed. He hung vaguely for a moment as she passed. 269 They pulled up to the same spot where Michelle’s and the young man’s bodies were, already attracting dust and creeping bugs in the pit. Spurlock was no longer a man before this instinct; he was a child in trouble. I had that coming. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter.
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