He sent me home. Cars rushed by on the street, swerving into the middle of the two lane road to avoid the knee-deep puddles forming around sewer grates. But—” The tired woman raised her eyebrows in mild protest. “It isn’t objections exactly. You’re NOT to go. His frame was wasted, and slightly bent; his eyes were hollow, his complexion haggard, and his beard, which had remained unshorn during his hasty journey, was perfectly white. It's gin—a liquor you used to like.
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