Her girl, Clarice, was ten and just as pretty as a silver bell. It needs cultivating, I think. A sinister thought edged in. By instinct. He meditated, and began a new paragraph. During the wet monsoon the west beach was always littered. ‘Never trust a gun in female hands,’ grumbled Hilary, dropping the nun’s habit and backing to join his friend. Cursing himself for his inertness, Jack soon shook off this drowsiness, and set to work in earnest.
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