There was. He had never liked to be hugged, but she wondered if his corporeal needs would be made apparent by human touch. He first met her when he had caught her smoking behind the Joliet LaudrO-Matic one cool overcast day in late August. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. Madame Valade was that kind of woman. She would end this sham with Manning. Anna opened a cupboard and produced cups and saucers and a tin of coffee.
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