\" Larry got up from his chair and trudged to the refrigerator, pouring himself a glass of milk from the never-ending supply of two percent. Anything. Satisfied, as he thought, that he had nothing to apprehend, the boy resumed his task, chanting, as he plied his knife with redoubled assiduity, the following—not inappropriate strains:— THE NEWGATE STONE. ‘Do please continue,’ Gerald begged, deceptively docile. He did not look up, so he did not know that in her other hand she held a glass of wine.
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