A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. . “Gracious!” she exclaimed to herself. Spurlock had better stick to the bungalow. "I'm armed; you are not. \"What did you think of Poltergeist, John?\" She tried to engage him in conversation as Mark's music blared from the van's stereo system.
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