The fragrance of dryer sheets lay upon her like the snow that now drifted peacefully outside. “Well, make sure you use something. ” “I am afraid,” she murmured, “that it would be difficult. “Let us escape,” she said. If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically. I will dedicate my books to you. we’ll stop by the Amoco on Maple. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. “I see the pointer,” she said.
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