“A nice time of anxiety you’ve given me, young lady,” he said, as he entered the room. Cars rushed by on the street, swerving into the middle of the two lane road to avoid the knee-deep puddles forming around sewer grates. She forced herself not to think of John. His letter of credit; probably that was it; and, observing the strangeness of the room he was in, his first concern on returning to consciousness would naturally relate to his letter of credit. I came to see you on my own account.
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