McClintock did not exaggerate his ability to read faces. “Sure, are you sure you’re okay?” He exited off the highway onto a quiet road and pulled over. The tree-lined streets were silent except for the sporadic revving of glass packs down Church Avenue. A Hand that strove to reach his shoulder, relentless, soulless but lawful. She would be enduing this chap with attributes he did not possess, clothing him in fictional ruffles. Consternation gripped him.
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