“Dare!” she said. They used the rope—not that a rope was at all necessary, but because Ann Veronica’s exalted state of mind made the fact of the rope agreeably symbolical; and, anyhow, it did insure a joint death in the event of some remotely possibly mischance. He told me that he was a millionaire. I was his wife. Mike was draped over the laminate kitchen counter, on the phone as usual.
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