The sky was dripping a wet, slow rain that had forced the city’s inhabitants into taxicabs and dingy cafeterias, the day wholly ruined for all except the insane schizophrenics and her. She threw him his car keys. “Go down and rescue the rags of my reputation,” she said, smiling. Beauty has bloomed and faded. “Too bad to keep you waiting,” Annabel exclaimed. On some insane score she fancied she had to state her case in verse. ‘Poor things. John stared palely.
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