She stood face to face with him, and his voice cut across her speech and made her stop abruptly. No amount of scrubbing could remove the stains, the blood of an unknown man she had stolen from the scene of a car accident, a stupid drunk with no license who had wrapped his Chevy truck around a very large oak tree. She felt sticky and ashamed when he dropped her off a block away from the McCloskey house as she had requested. "Right," said the Master, "I didn't think of her. And tell Pottiswick to mend that lock we broke. I'll not speak of Jack or Jonathan. She slipped on a white clingy imitation silk tee-shirt, a sexy number that Shari had bought on super-sale at the Limited. For aught I know, they may be in the neighbourhood at this moment.
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