Pramlay lived for amenities and the mellowed surfaces of things. She was practically an outcast, she had not even the ghost of a plan as to her future, and she had something less than five pounds in her pocket. She trailed him to his apartment and a black door that read 727 in solemn gold-tone lettering. ‘Do you need an excuse?’ ‘Oh, you know what doctors are. “They’re all doing great.
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