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O. henry porter
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She held the blood fly right in front of his nose to make her point. Long-tailed gars are stupid. If it had been a short-tailed gar, we would be dead right now.
Cora looked resigned. Theyre flying fish. Real fly- ing fish. She stared upward, enraptured by yet another of the sea's miraculous examples of protective adapta- tion.
The boughs rippled as they swelled, sprouting twigs that in seconds grew heavy with foliage. But despite its health, the tree was corrupted in every bud.
As they led the o. henry now empty wagons from the dock, Roo rode next to Duncan on the lead wagon. He felt an elation unlike anything he had known in his life.
She added everything swiftly together-the tallness and the scorch and the meat down there-and realized that he was bringing her dinner after all.
Lying there, quiescent, the impotent razor digging into one buttock, she tried to henry porter summon up her revulsion of him and, shockingly, could not. She was dizzy with a longing she could not name, with a desire she could not acknowledge.