McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. His subconscious sensed the unnaturalness of it and recoiled. ‘I broke in. “You certainly are. You were with your mother, the two of you huddled like thieves, laughing at the silly women who tried to shield themselves from rain by cowering under empty baskets and shawls. “If you cannot listen to me now it must remain undelivered. We'll lather him with mud, shave him with a rusty razor, and drench him with aqua pompaginis.
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