And Ritter’s, too, was very amusing and foreign and discreet; a little rambling
room with a number of small tables, with red electric light shades and flowers. I found him lying like this, the bleeding partly
stopped by this scarf, else he had been dead by now. ‘The gatehouse? But why must you move him at all?’
‘Listen, missie. "I know the house well; by the same token
that it's a flash crib. Cut to pieces
—slashed—bloodied. "I thought we were going to have some music," she said. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He
waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. He continued
tenderly, almost affectionately. Too damned
chickenhearted to confess to me he’d run off with the woman.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 01-07-2024 15:31:28