No wonder we are anxious that nothing should happen to make him change his mind. ‘Never trust a gun in female hands,’ grumbled Hilary, dropping the nun’s habit and backing to join his friend. He lived on the seventh floor behind a winding set of hallways that towered over her in their grayness. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. Her eyes noted it mercilessly.
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