Mike was draped over the laminate kitchen counter, on the phone as usual. She covered herself with her arms. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. He knew not how to act, urged as he was in two directions. "But it is much to me. His face changed and she saw, with a stab at her heart, the dawning of irritation in his eyes. Occasionally he revealed tidbits about his past after a good kill. Being a Chinaman in blood and instinct, he despised all spinsters; they were parasites. ‘I suppose you think I can’t manage it myself,’ had complained Captain Roding sarcastically.
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