A white apron was tied round his waist, and into the apron was thrust a short thick truncheon, which looked very much like a rolling-pin. He knew what he knew. “I suppose I should let go if I had. ” “You know all?” “Your sister has told me. He drove to his apartment, a second floor studio he 120 was renting above a bakery. A brief feeling of empathy with Pottiswick passed through him.
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