Then he lifted the black cloak-like garment from the floor. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes. "He has heard of your wonderful escapes, and wishes to see what you're like. She was to fall back amongst the ruck, a young woman of talent, content perhaps to earn a scanty living by painting Christmas cards, or teaching at a kindergarten. Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits.
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