I was just like a sort of dummy that does things as it is told—that is to say, as the strings are pulled. “What’s going on with you?” John asked inquisitively, looking down at her abdomen. I can see the whole thing was just a set-up for sequels, though. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter.
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