She guessed that he probably slept all of three hours a night at most. Maybe half a year, counting this summer. Shari regaled Lucy with soap operatic tales of boy-girl intrigues at the high school, then spoke of her aspirations for the future. "I leave this bowl for you," he cried, returning it to the landlord untasted. You would want me to be clean, if you gave me a thought, that is. Which are you—Valade or Charvill? Or, no, let me guess.
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