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She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. " "And I will, if I can, depend upon it," answered Sheppard, with a laugh. Clarice rubbed her belly, singing songs to the unborn baby. "I forbid you to do that. Even then it sent Spurlock spinning backward, to crash against the wall. ‘Hilary was right. ” He said curiously. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. She replied softly.
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