’ Gerald frowned in an effort of memory, and then laughed as he recalled one of the lies she had invented for his benefit. While he thus vented his rage, the door again opened, and Quilt Arnold rushed into the room, bleeding, and half-dressed. He stood outside of the car, bewildered, as she walked up to the BMW’s front bumper. He felt the first sting of the whip. ‘It is not your affair. I could tell it was Italian, you see.
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