They turned the last corner, and almost immediately a man who had been standing there turned and struck Ennison a violent blow on the cheek. He stepped quickly towards her. No amount of scrubbing could remove the stains, the blood of an unknown man she had stolen from the scene of a car accident, a stupid drunk with no license who had wrapped his Chevy truck around a very large oak tree. All the initial confidence in herself was gone; her courage was merely a shell to hide the lack. I change them in the morning at Cannon Street, and take my book as I come down.
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