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Updated: May 18, 2025
The next morning, in the News Shop, Parker Ives introduced Patrick to Wilson. "Willy, you and Patrick get started on the Van Slyke house." He rubbed his forehead. "She's intense about her roses; better cover them. The lilacs, too. I'll be around later with more primer." "Ya, Boss. Let's go, Patrick." Wilson was short and muscular, balding, with a thick black mustache and a glass eye.
"Maybe we could go easy on the furniture," Oliver said. "Don't worry, I won't go crazy. We'll have a housewarming!" "You're right about the place plenty of room, but not too big. It would be good to get my tools laid out." Five weeks later, they slid a check across a glass-topped table. A tired balding man with a red face tossed Oliver a set of keys. "Kentucky, here I come," he said.
But then, he understood in the microseconds he had left that Justin's finger was pulling the trigger, which was pulling back the hammer, which would imminently fire the bullet in a more or less straight line directly into his tired, balding skull.
"I'm working my ass off." "I loved your story, by the way," she said. "I could see that balding bus boy carefully loading his cart. But I wanted more." "Yeah," Joe said. "I can't tell you how many times I've thought of that guy. Did I tell you that I started a novel?" "No," Mo said. "You're right about the stories. They aren't enough. It's a new experience for me a novel.
"He's expecting you, sirs." The senior opened the door, and Perry, grinning, gestured Medart through first. He had seen the Emperor's picture any number of times, on everything from holo-news to currency, so the chubby, balding man was no surprise but His Majesty's obvious enthusiasm was. The Emperor came around his desk and grasped both of Medart's hands, smiling widely. "Ranger James Medart!
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