Anna leaned over so that he needed only to whisper. A small handgun bobbed at the end of it, aimed at Sheila. Her husband finally relented. “So I see that you have become content with your hardscrabble existence, your week-to-week survival, your Martin Chen!” “Who?” “Your limp-wristed lover!” “Um. Manning leaned forward on the table, talking discursively on the probable brilliance of their married life. To Ruth the thought of Hartford no longer projected upon her vision a city of spires and houses and tree-lined streets.
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