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She ran through the backyards of Pinecrest subdivision, piano wire and a slim jim tucked into her pantyhose. “Let me think,” said Ann Veronica. If Winifred remained silent, her looks would have disarmed a person of less assurance than the woollen-draper. I suspect he has been at work upon those he has on. Dizzily, she grabbed at the mantel for support and, resting her head on her hands, paid no heed to a betraying sound behind her—until an unexpected arm encircled her.
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