” “It is an accident,” he answered. She trailed him to his apartment and a black door that read 727 in solemn gold-tone lettering. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. ‘Nothing would do for her but to come here,’ grumbled Hilary, wiping his heated brow with a pocket handkerchief dragged from his immaculate white uniform breeches. She held up the lamp. Leave Martin Chen and his family alone. “While we were minding the children they stole our rights and liberties.
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