The rest were hieroglyphic characters, executed in red chalk and charcoal. She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. For a time she promenaded the room. ” He raised his hand, and they saw that he was holding a small revolver. Maggot. Even in his fevered hours, so the girl had said, his tongue had not betrayed him. After a long fifteen seconds, she pulled her head back into the seat, looking at his face from the close angle, his nose huge and out of perspective, his eyes like round blue pearls.
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