It is you who took my name, not I yours. How is she?” “My sister is quite well, thank you,” she answered. She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. Already she knew that she was overstaying her welcome. “He does not come here,” she exclaimed, quickly. ” She propped herself up on the massive oaken post of the bed, feeling the paralysis tingle her legs as it left them ever so slowly.
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