He took some Oreos from the bottomless supply that stocked the cookie jar. A minute pressure inwards showed him that it was not locked. She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin. “He must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know. He drew a little breath of relief. His build was medium, he would never 5 tower over his peers, yet his shoulders were broadening, betrayed by an undeveloped set of pectoral muscles underneath his button-down shirt that she could tell frustrated him. Probably some woman on the loose; they were as thick as flies over here—dizzy blondes.
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