[Yeah. He shouldn't have said that. He was restless, in pain, and not fully on his guard--conditions he'd never allow his lies to be compromised under in normal circumstances. One look at her and, stubbornness aside, he was tired.]
You're gonna kill me if I told you. [The market. Good Spirits. Watching that joyous and possibly drunk baritone leaning out of his window with a record player in his arms.]
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You're gonna kill me if I told you. [The market. Good Spirits. Watching that joyous and possibly drunk baritone leaning out of his window with a record player in his arms.]