CHAPTER THE NINTH DISCORDS Part 1 One afternoon, soon after Ann Veronica’s great discovery, a telegram came into the laboratory for her. All men are bloody fucking hypocrites. But the free arm of the stranger hit him a flail-like blow on the chest and sent him sprawling into the yielding sand. I'll go with you. What's-your-name?" "Shotbolt, Sir," replied the jailer.
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