Any minute he expected the white uniform and yel ow holster of a marine to go past. Atwood was cal ing and Aunt Beatrice was out of the room how it was a shame that poor Mrs. ery time Iopened the Word Six program on my computer and looked at the blankscreen and flashing cursor. I'd be delighted to, I said.
In a tissuepaper package on the table were seven-233-pairs of ladies' silk stockings. In that moment he looked like Robert Duvall in Apocalypse Now, stridingalong the beach and telling the world how much he loved the smell ofnapalm in the morning. Their plastic feathers werepainted the dark green of pine nee-dies, their bellies a shade of dirtyorange-white. The resemblance was remarkable.
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