It was Celeste’s idea. Perhaps the old fool was not as fanciful as they had thought. They went into Michelle's tiny bedroom, bare except for a dresser, a closet, and a miniscule single bed that resembled her own at the Becks. He walked through a wide open archway, curtained with deep-blue curtains, into the apartment that served as a reception-room. And I have no more the pistol. "I owe you nothing," he repeated, dully.
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