On the Makaloa Mat LondonJack Published bbaafjhm

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hite dressthe swell of her hips just
below my hands and the smell of her perfumethen pushed the images away. I couldn't spend the
whole night taking cold showers. Quarter past nine was still early enough to call Frank Arlen.
He picked up on the second ringsounding both happy to hear from me and as if he'd gotten
three or four cans further into the six-pack than I had so far done. We passed the usual pleasantries
back and forth ― most of my own almost entirely fictionalI was dismayed to find ― and he
mentioned that a famous neighbor of mine had kicked the bucketaccording to the news. Had I met
him? YesI saidremembering how Max Devore had run his wheelchair at me. YesI'd met him.
Frank wanted to know what he was like. That was hard to sayI told him. Poor old guy was stuck in
a wheelchair and suffering from emphysema.
'Pretty frailhuh?' Frank asked sympathetically.
'Yeah' I said. 'ListenFrankI called about Jo. I was out in her studio looking aroundand I
found my typewriter. Since then I've kind of gotten the idea she was writing something. It might
have started as a little piece about our housethen widened. The place is named after Sara Tidwell
you know. The blues singer.'
A long pause. The [link widoczny dla zalogowanych]yilai:
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