Look out, it’s coming. Stanley and his sister into a taxicab, and had waved an amiable farewell from the pavement steps. He—” “Here they are!” said Ann Veronica as the bell sounded. She donned her fuzzy slippers and traipsed downstairs, the welcoming smell of coffee beckoning her, the sound of Looney Toons music barely audible from the television set. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching.
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