He nodded silently, too full for words. John sat pensively in the back of his best friend's mother's minivan, piloted by his best friend Mark. She had been built for canvas and oil-lamps, and this new thingumajig that kept her nose snoring at eight knots when normally she was able to boil along at ten, and these unblinking things they called lamps (that neither smoked nor smelled), irked and threatened to ruin her temper. ” “And you?” asked David Courtlaw. "You lie!" Head down, fists doubled, Spurlock rushed: only to be met with a kick which was intended for the groin but which struck the thigh instead.
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