"It's more than I am," muttered Thames. “Bit thick on the old man, isn’t it?” said Roddy, who had developed a bluff, straightforward style in the motor shop. He needed to laugh, but only she laughed as he chuckled weakly. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. Perhaps an hour passed before she laid aside the book. They don’t count, and I don’t care.
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