She felt scrawny, lanky, badly dressed in a baggy black T-shirt, sweaty, not at all beautiful; not even pretty. CHAPTER XXVII. I have only just left Wych Street. "I want to know what you've done with the rest of the notes—with the gold— and the papers you took away from my room!" rejoined Wild. She was suddenly very aware of the room, the television still blaring, and the chill in the air.
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