Day 12
“So,” she says at last, just when I feel like a specimen beetle in a box, “Are you one of those hard-boiled detectives?”
“Um, uh, no, Miss Gunner,” I stammer, “I suppose I’m more a soft-boiled one, a few minutes short of hard.”
She blinks at me for a moment; now she’s unsure. She’s unsure about being unsure.
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