" Some innate sense of balance told her that something was wrong with these tales. His head was small and bullet-shaped, and he did not wear a wig, but had his sleek black hair cut off closely round his temples. Wood caught hold of Jack's leg, and dragged him off the bench. He gave her one of the sweaty red cans. But he was not a father one could make much of. She grasped at the right one, massaging where his grip had been and Gerald hoped he had not bruised her. They were loath to admit to the public that the case would be closed in a few years for sheer lack of forensic evidence. " "There it is;" replied the other, tossing him the glove.
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