of like, one seventy-five or something?” She looked at Michelle with worry. John sat pensively in the back of his best friend's mother's minivan, piloted by his best friend Mark. Who could say that the girl's father had not once been a fashionable clergyman in the States and that drink had got him and forced him down, step by step, until—to use the child's odd expression—he had come upon the beach? She was cynical, this spinster. I’d need to be out of my senses. You’d think he wanted to meet the wretch again.
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