His face was a little flushed perhaps, and his small, brown eyes were bright. “TROUSERS!” she whispered. “Don’t!” cried Ann Veronica, struggling faintly, and he released her. He glanced up at Roding and met his eyes. “I want a vote for myself,” she said. I got a rusty bolt cutter. After the sights he would have to twiddle his thumbs until the joints cracked.
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