Spurlock was invariably at the high desk in the early morning, poring over ledgers, and giving the beach and the stores an occasional glance. It had a tiny flaw, most bizarre. ‘You’re not going to kill me this time. The Master of the Mint. “You are very stupid, Anna,” she said. She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. Not so bad. I understand. She said that she couldn’t stand Mike.
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