Bête, she told herself fiercely. “It’s either now or never,” she said to herself. She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. They slow danced to a Bon Jovi ballad. She responded as he slipped his hands under her sweater. I told him the truth. I think not. ’ ‘You may not get the chance. ” The man made no attempt to recover the revolver. “Thank you.
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