“Uh, I think I might, Shari. ” Annabel laughed derisively and took up her book. ’ Kimble’s widening gaze told its own tale, but still he kept his fingers on the handle of the door. We shall have—hardly any money. Probably he has something to say and can't say it, or he writes well about nothing. He stalked her, he stared at her, he craved her, he sidled slinking and propitiatory and yet relentlessly toward her, until at last she awoke from the suffocating nightmare nearness of his approach, and lay awake in fear and horror listening to the unaccustomed sounds of the hotel.
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