Wood, who was standing at the edge of a raised platform, anxiously waving his hand to him. She gave me an impression of a sort of patched quilt; little bits of patterned stuff coming up again and again. Did he like freaks? She opened her black umbrella, her giant sun deflector. He called to the other attendant, who held the torch. Probably some woman on the loose; they were as thick as flies over here—dizzy blondes. When he had finished he took up the wine list and ordered a bottle of dry champagne.
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