She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. A wave of pity went over him—pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend. During all their long comradeship he had never so much as ventured to hold her fingers. “That’s what we narcs have to do. Bullding repeated, rather struck with the phrase. "And on my part, I shall not lift a hand to defend myself. She was not a Christian woman. ” He said. .
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