My own impression is that he already knows. \"Would you like some orange juice?\" Larry had already been working outside for an hour, Mike at his side, dragging grass clippings to the compost pile. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. ‘As to that, I am a devil, say the nuns. It was from Brendon. “Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech. Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her.
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