” “You would let him—knowing—all that you know?” “Why not? She is my flesh and blood. He greeted the corpulent boy at the register, whose tag read, \"MY NAME IS Jason\" with familiarity. Then she glanced at the cards again, over which her aunt’s many-ringed hand played, and then at the rather weak, rather plump face that surveyed its operations. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words.
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