shouldn’t be friends. ’ Mrs Prudence Sindlesham, a widow of several years’ standing, so she told Gerald, was a scarecrow of a female, long and lank of limb in a figure that had once been willowy. Not the most stringent search, conducted all morning, turned up one solitary sheet. It was a gracious gesture, she thought, as he trudged to the Beck’s humble doorstep in his stiff blue polyester uniform. You didn’t even put the twelve words.
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