. A little smothered cry broke from her lips—the curtains were thrown aside and a man stepped out. Where is Father Spencer? I must have absolution. “Why are you so distant? Why all the mystery? What are you, a narc? Double-oh-seven or something?” She steeled herself, refusing to react. “I’ll have to pay it. ‘Besides, I don’t want the men blundering in here and frightening off our spy. ‘It is you who is the fool,’ she threw at him, whipping round again. “Some of them seem to be having an awfully good time too. “You’re our superstar!” Turning to her foster father, she was bear hugged again, squashing the white carnations. It was denied him, for as he closed his eyes—though but for an instant—the whole scene of his former visit to the place rose before him. She felt scrawny, lanky, badly dressed in a baggy black T-shirt, sweaty, not at all beautiful; not even pretty. It isn't friendly as I thought it would be.
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