The blue jowl, the fat-lidded eyes—now merry, now alert, now tungsten hard—the bullet head, the pudgy fingers and the square-toed shoes were all in conformation with the doctor's olden mental picture. Jack, however, had an expedient for mastering this difficulty. “My child, I do not wish. ” She pulled a small blue box out of the pocket of her hoodie. McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. She spoke slowly.
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