It did not matter that he wore the cloth; something was wrong with him. Had he been trying to get her attention before that day, or did he simply want his silly pencil returned? \"I'm John. "But, we'll soon see. ” She pressed her ear to the door. Not for me. Her acrid rose perfume oil that hung in the air that smelled like a head shop, her V. “Through there,” he said, and pointed with the pamphlet he was carrying.
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