“We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. Sebastian traveled at seventy, eighty, then one-hundred down the freeway. In fact he was thinking of other things. And now her father said she must not go. His hair had begun to gray, his belly had just begun to round. Rats and things crawling all over. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. Mr. "Hear the letter," said Ireton, breaking the seal.
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