She looked in the rear-view mirror. John looked at his feet bashfully. You’ll end up dead, that’s what. She resumed her on guard position, and glaring steadily at him, waited again. Besides, I have my doubts that he is so very sick. For what she lacked in appearance, Sheila compensated in gossip. She waited expectantly. John eased off. His salvation—if there was to be any—lay in her ignorance of life.
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