She had to make sure, for the peace of her mind, that this was really the man. She stumbled through a thorny copse, her slippers sliding on patches of sand that gave way to rock. “John,” she declared, “I must eat or die. “No. “We’re going to be sensible. “Won’t you give me your address?” She shook her head. "Get ready your heaviest irons, Austin. They joined the rabble of aspiring James Deans in torn jeans and bomber jackets and girls with Clairol black hair smoking clove cigarettes. Vexation at his folly in suffering himself to be thus entrapped kept Wood for a short time silent.
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