She heard the rats scattering across the stone as dirt fell into the crypt. "I was merely about to observe that I am in possession of her secret. Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits. His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. Michelle had begged her to do it. . ‘How so?’ he asked, and she noted that he allowed his pistol to dangle a little from his fingers. Everything, Miss Miniver said, was “working up,” everything was “coming on”—the Higher Thought, the Simple Life, Socialism, Humanitarianism, it was all the same really. I'll forgive him if he does. Afterwards, it may be different.
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