She opened the door with a neon colored key. Enough to let her find out a piece of information most urgent. Sheppard. She waited a few minutes, then greeted the burly doorman who stood as the building’s lone sentry. “What ought you to do?” He began to produce his knowledge of the world for her benefit, jerkily and allusively, and with a strong, rank flavor of “savoir faire. Here, turnkey. Nevertheless, relief washed over her, her body rejoicing in the afterglow of twenty years of tension released. It came again. ’ Joan sniffed.
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