The next minute, I contrived, without either of 'em perceiving me, to convey it into my own pocket. "Something's wrong. His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. “Do all foster kids have the instinct?” Michelle asked naively. The thought passed through his mind even as he started to cross the terrace at a jogtrot, moving to head her off.
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